KATHARINE 
H. 

SHUTE 


BOOK 
I. 


PRIMARY 
GRADES 


SILVER,    BURDETT     &.    COMPANY 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


UNIVERSITY  of  CALIKUKMjmi 

AT 


A  fc.T/"»lTT  CO 


THE  LAND  OF  SONG 


Book  I 


OR    PRIMARY    GRADES 


SELECTED    BY 

KATHARINE  H.   SHUTE 

EBi'TED    BV 

LARKIN  DUNTON,  LL.D. 

FORMERLY    HEAD    MASTER    OF    THE    BOSTON    NORMAL    SCHOOL 


J       -    - 


SILVER,     BURDETT    &    COMPANY 
New  York        BOSTON  Chicago 


150314 


Copyright,  :8o8, 
By  Silver,  Burdett  &  Company, 


■       .«         «      ,•    .. 

*         '  '.  - 
'      '      '  , 


W15" 
Compilers'  Preface. 


The  inestimable  value  of  literature  in  supplying  healthful 
recreation,  in  opening  the  mind  to  larger  views  of  life,  and  in 
creating  ideals  that  shall  mold  the  spiritual  nature,  is  conceded 
now  by  every  one  who  has  intelligently  considered  the  problems 
of  education.  But  the  basis  upon  which  literature  shall  be 
selected  and  arranged  is  still  a  matter  of  discussion. 

Chronology,  race-correspondence,  correlation,  and  ethical 
training  should  all  be  recognized  incidentally;  but  the  main 
purpose  of  the  teacher  of  literature  is  to  send  children  on  into 
life  with  a  genuine  love  for  good  reading.  To  accomplish  this, 
three  things  should  be  true  of  the  reading  offered:  first,  it 
should  be  literature;  second,  it  should  be  literature  of  some 
scope,  not  merely  some  small  phase  of  literature,  such  as  the 
fables  or  the  poetry  of  one  of  the  less  eminent  poets ;  and  third, 
it  should  appeal  to  children's  natural  interests.  Children's  in- 
terests, varied  as  they  seem,  center  in  the  marvelous  and  the 
preternatural;  in  the  natural  world  ;  and  in  human  life,  espe- 
cially child  life  and  the  romantic  and  heroic  aspects  of  mature 
life.  In  the  selections  made  for  each  grade,  we  have  recognized 
these  different  interests. 

To  grade  poetry  perfectly  for  different  ages  is  an  impossibil- 
ity; much  of  the  greatest  verse  is  for  all  ages  — that  is  one 
reason  why  it  is  great.  A  child  of  five  will  lisp  the  numbers 
of  Horatius  with  delight;  and  Scott's  Lullaby  of  an  Lnfant 
Chief,  with  its  romantic  color  and  its  exquisite  human  tender- 
ness, is  dear  to  childhood,  to  manhood,  and  to  old  age.  But 
the  Land  of  Song  is  a  great,  undiscovered  country  to  the  little 
child ;  by  some  road  or  other  he  must  find  his  way  into  it :  and 

3 


4  COMPILERS'    PREFACE. 

these  volumes  simply  attempt  to  point  out  a  path  through  which 
he  may  be  led  into  its  happy  fields. 

The  child  who  has  not  been  deprived  of  his  birthright  will 
have  delighted  in  Mother  Goose  before  entering  school ;  but 
experience  has  shown  that  many  children  have  not  met  that 
good  woman,  and  therefore  we  have  given  her  a  generous  place 
in  our  first  year. 

Our  earnest  thanks  are  due  to  the  following  publishers  for 
permission  to  use  copyrighted  poems:  to  Houghton,  Mifflin  & 
Co.,  for  poems  by  Longfellow,  Whittier,  Emerson,  Holmes, 
Lowell,  Aldrich,  Bayard  Taylor,  James  T.  Fields,  Phoebe  Cary, 
Lucy  Larcom,  Celia  Thaxter,  and  Sarah  Orne  Jewett;  to  D. 
Appleton  &  Co.  for  a  large  number  of  Bryant's  poems  ;  to 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons  for  two  poems  by  Stevenson,  from 
Underwoods,  and  A  Child's  Garden  of  Verse ;  to  J.  B.  Lippin- 
cott  &  Co.  for  two  poems  by  Thomas  Buchanan  Read ;  and  to 
Henry  T.  Coates  &  Co.  for  a  poem  by  Charles  Fenno  Hoff- 
man. 

The  present  volume  is  intended  for  the  three  lowest  or 
primary  grades.  It  is  the  first  of  three  books  prepared  for  use 
in  the  grades  below  the  high  school.  As  no  collection  of  this 
size  can  supply  for  any  one  grade  as  much  poetry  as  it  is 
desirable  to  use,  we  have  noted  at  the  end  of  each  volume  lists 
of  poems  which  might  wisely  be  added  to  the  material  given 
here.  Especially  in  the  case  of  the  American  poets,  much 
should  be  added  if  the  children  are  to  appreciate  fully  the  scope 
and  beauty  of  the  poetry  of  which  our  own  land  may  justly  be 
proud. 


ONTENTS 


Abou  Ben  Adhem      .     .     . 
Alec  Yeaton's  Son  .     .     . 
All  Things  Beautiful     . 
Angel's  Whisper,  The 
Answer  to  a  Child's  Ques 

tion 

Ariel's  Song 


Baa,  Baa,  Black  Sheep 
Baby's  Feet,  A      .     , 
Baby's  Hands,  A  . 
Baby,  The     .     .     . 
Better  Land,  The 
Bluebell,  The 
Boy's  Song,  A  .     . 
Break,  Break,  Brea 
Brook,  The  .     .     . 
Brown  Thrush,  The 
Bugle  Song      .     . 
Busy  Bee,  The 
By-lo,  Baby-bunting 

Canadian  Boat-Song 
Captain's  Daughter,  The 
Casabianca       .     . 
Child's  Morning  Hymn,  A 
Child's  Thought  of  God,  A,  153 


PAGE 
127 
I50 


65 

47 

45 
156 
136 

15 
166 

102 

«5 
144 
1 10 

4i 
146 

30 

5i 

J54 

98 
96 

157 


PAGE 

Child's  World,  The     .     .     .     78 
Christmas  Carol,  A     .     .     .   126 
Christmas  Carol  (Old   Eng- 
lish)       134 

Cock  Robin's  Death    ...     28 
Consider 138 

Daffy-Down-Dilly     .     .     .124 
Dance  to  Your  Daddy-O     .     51 

Discontent 123 

Duty 162 

Eagle,  The 157 

Echoing  Green,  The    .     .     .  170 
Epitaph    on    a    Robin    Red- 
breast, An 99 

Evening  Hymn 171 

Fairies,  The 91 

Fairies  of  the  Caldon-Fow, 

The 66 

Fairy  Song 184 

Farewell,  A 190 

First  Snow-Fall,  The     ,     .  167 

Fountain,  The 104 

George  Nidiver 174 

Good  Name 165 


6 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Good    Night      and      Good 
Morning 76 

Hark,  Hark  !  The  Lark  at 
Heaven's  Gate  sings  .     .156 

Hie  Away 116 

Home,  Sweet  Home.     .     .     .   172 
Housekeeper,  The  ....  189 

Humanity 162 

humpty  dumpty 49 

Hushaby,  Baby 23 

Hush,   my   Dear,    lie    still 
and  slumber 53 

I  Love  Little  Pussy     ...     36 

Infant  Joy 73 

I  Remember,  I  Remember     .  141 

Lady  Moon 14 

Lamb,  The 54 

Land  of  Story  Books,  The,  93 
Like    Crusoe,    walking    by 

the  Lonely  Strand     .     .143 

Lily,  The ^3 

Lines    From    the    Ancient 

Mariner 64 

Little  Bell      ...:..  61 

Little  Birdie 13 

Little  Bo-Peep 21 

Little  Boy  Blue 21 

Little  Cock  Sparrow,  A      .  59 

Little  Dandelion    ....  83 

Little  Jack  Horner    ...  43 

Little  May 50 

Little  White  Lily  .     .     .     .  31 

Lost  Doll,  The 70 

Lullaby,  A 17S 

Lullaby      of     an      Infant 

Chief Si 

March 90 


PAGE 

Mary's  Lamb 27 

Milking  Time 119 

Minstrel  Boy,  The  .     .     .     .176 

Mother's  Song 46 

Mountain   and  the    Squir- 
rel, The 118 

My   Heart's   in   the   High- 
lands    155 

National  Hymn 12S 

Night  with  a  Wolf,  A     .     .  55 

New  Moon,  The 4S 

North    Wind    doth     blow, 

The 59 

Now  I  lay  Me 53 

Nursery  Song 25 

Old  Christmas 185 

Old  Gaelic  Lullaby    ...     52 

Old  Ironsides 186 

On  Another's  Sorrow  .  .160 
Only  a  Baby  Small  ...  34 
Opening  of  the  Piano,  The,  100 
Over  Hill,  over  Dale  .  .116 
Over  in  the  Meadow  ...  16 
OwlandthePussy-Cat,The,  121 

Palm  Tree,  The 147 

Parrot,  The 108 

Pet  Lamb,  The 129 

Pussy-Cat 43 

Reverie  of  Poor  Susan,  The,  159 
Robert  of  Lincoln  .     .     .     .113 

Robin  Redbreast 60 

Rose  upon  my  Balcony,  The,  i  55 

Sandpiper,  The 152 

See  what  a  Lovely  Shell    .  188 
Seven  Times  One    .       ...  86 
She  dwelt  among  the  Un- 
trodden Ways    .      .     .     .  iaj 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Sing  On,  Blithe  Bird  .  .  .  109 
Sleep,  Baby,  Sleep  ....  48 
Sleeping  Child,  A  ....     22 

Snowdrop,  The 105 

Spring  (Thaxter) 70 

Suppose 57 

Sweet  and  Low 137 

Thank  You,  Pretty  Cow  .  35 
Three  Bells,  The    ....     94 

Tiger,  The 177 

To  a  Butterfly 88 

To  a  Butterfly 142 

To  a  Child 84 

To-Day 99 

To  the  Fringed  Gentian     .  117 

Tree,  The 89 

Twinkle,    Twinkle,  Little 
Star 24 


PAGE 

Under      the      Greenwood 
Tree 147 

Village  Blacksmith,  The    .  106 

Violets 65 

Visit  from  St.  Nicholas,  A  .     73 
Visit  from  the  Sea,  A  .     .     .173 

We  are  Seven 163 

While  Shepherds  watched 

their  Flocks  by  Night  .  169 
Who  stole  the  Bird's  Nest?     37 

Willie  Winkie 44 

Wind  in  a  Frolic,  The    .     .119 

Wishing 82 

Wreck    of    the    Hesperus, 

The 179 


Yellow  Violet,  The    . 


183 


Index  of  Authors. 


PAGE 

Aldrich,  Thomas  Bailey. 

Alec  Yeaton's  Son 150 

Like  Crusoe,  Walking  by  the  Lonely- 
Strand  143 

Alexander,  Cecil  Frances. 

All  Things  Beautiful 33 

Allingham,  William. 

Robin  Redbreast 60 

The  Fairies qi 

Wishing 82 

Anonymous. 

Christmas  Carol  (Old  English)      .     .   134 

Cock  Robin's  Death 28 

Dance  to  Your  Daddy-0       ....     51 

George  Nidiver  .     .     .    « 174 

Mother's  Song ,n 

Now  I  lay  Me 53 

Old  Gaelic  Lullaby 52 

Sleep,  Baby,  Sleep 48 

The  Bluebell 102 

Barr,  Matthias. 

Only  a  Baby  Small 34 

Bjornson,  Bjornsterne 

The  Tree 89 

Blake,  William. 

Infant  Joy 73 

On  Another's  Sorrow 160 

The  Echoing  Green 170 

The  Lamb 54 

The  Lily 33 

The  Tiger ,77 

Bostwick,  Helen  B. 

Little  Dandelion 83 

Browning,  Elizabeth  Barrett. 

A  Child's  Thought  of  God    .     .     .     .   153 

Bryant,  William  Culi.en 

Robert  of  Lincoln 1:3 

The  Yellow  Violet 183 

To  the  Fringed  Gentian n7 

Burns,  Robert. 

My  Heart's  in  the  Highlands   .     .     .155 


8 


PAGE 

Campbell,  Thomas. 

The  Parrot io8 

Carlyle,  Thomas. 

To-day g9 

Carter,  Mrs. 

Nursery  Song 25 

Cary,  Phcebe. 

Suppose 5_ 

Child,  Lydia  Maria. 

Who  stole  the  Bird's  Nest  ?  ....     37 

Clough.  Arthur  Hugh. 

A  Sleeping  Child 22 

Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor. 

Answer  to  a  Child's  Question    ...     65 
Lines  from  the  Ancient  Manner    .     .     64 

Cowper,  William. 

Humanity t62 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo. 

Duty j62 

The  Mountain  and  the  Squirrel     .     .   118 

Fields,  James  T. 

The  Captain's  Daughter 08 

Follen,  Eliza  Lee. 

The  New  Moon 48 

Hale,  Mrs 

Mary's  Lamb 27 

Heber,  Reginald. 

Evening  Hymn 171 

Hemans,  Felicia. 

Casabianca 96 

The  Better  Land 166 

Hogg,  James. 

A  Boy's  Song 85 

Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell. 

Old  Ironsides 186 

The  Opening  of  the  Piano    ....  100 

Hood,  Thomas. 

I  Remember,  I  Remember   ....  141 


INDEX    OF  AUTHORS. 


U 


PAGE 

Howitt,  Mary. 

Old  Christmas 185 

The  Fairies  of  the  Caldon-Low  .  .  66 
Howitt,  William. 

The  Wind  in  a  Frolic 119 

Hunt,  Leigh. 

Abou  Ben  Adhem 127 

Ingelow,  Jean. 

Seven  Times  One 86 

Jewett,  Sarah  Orne. 

Discontent 123 

Keats,  John. 

Fairy  Song 184 

Kingsley,  Charles. 

A  Farewell 19° 

The  Lost  Doll 7° 

Lamartine,  Alphonse  de. 

A  Child's  Morning  Hymn  ....  157 
Lamb,  Charles. 

The  Housekeeper 189 

Larcom,  Lucy. 

The  Brown  Thrush 41 

Lear,  Edward. 

The  Owl  and  the  Pussy-Cat      .     .     .121 

Lilliput  Lectures. 

The  Child's  World 78 

Longfellow,  Henry  Wadsworth. 

The  Village  Blacksmith 106 

The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus     .     .     .179 

Lover,  Samuel. 

The  Angel's  Whisper 72 

Lowell,  James  Russell. 

The  First  Snow-Fall 167 

The  Fountain i°4 

MacDonald,  George. 

Little  White  Lily 3" 

The  Baby '5 

Miller,  Mrs. 

Little  May      . 5° 

Miller,  William. 

Willie  Winkie     ........     44 

Milnes,    Richard  Monckton   (Lord 
Houghton). 
Good  Night  and  Good  Morning    .     .     76 

Lady  Moon 14 

Moore,  Clement  C. 

A  Visit  from  St.  Nicholas    ....     73 

Moore,  Thomas. 

Canadian  Boat-Song '54 

The  Minstrel-Boy 176 


PACE 

Mother  Goose. 

A  Little  Cock  Sparrow 59 

Baa,  Baa.  Black  Sheep 45 

By-lo  Baby-bunting 5' 

Humpty  Dumpty 49 

Hushaby  Baby 23 

Little  Bo-Peep 21 

Little  Boy  Blue 2. 

Little  Jack  Horner 43 

Pussy-Cat 43 

The  North  Wind  doth  blow      ...  59 

Motherwell,  William. 

Sing  On,  Blithe  Bird 109 

Moultrie,  John. 

Violets 65 

Nairne,  Lady. 

A  Lullaby '/S 

Payne,  John  Howard. 

Home,  Sweet  Home    .  ....   172 

Rogers,  Samuel. 

An  Epitaph  on  a  Robin  Redbreast    .     99 

Rossetti,  Christina  *'.. 

A  Christmas  Carol 126 

Consider 'i° 

Milking  Time "9 

Scott,  Sir  Walter. 

Hie  Away "6 

Lullaby  of  an  Infant  Chief    ....     Si 

Shakespeare,  William. 

Ariel's  Song 47 

Good  Name    • 165 

Hark,  Hark  !  The  Lark  at  Heaven's 

Gate  sings '5° 

Over  Hill,  over  Dale "6 

Under  the  Greenwood  Tree      .     .     .147 

Smith,  Samuel  Francis. 

National  Hymn 12S 

Stevenson,  Robert  Louis. 

A  Visit  from  the  Sea '73 

The  Land  of  Story  Books     ....     93 

Swinburne,  Algernon  Charles. 

A  Baby's  Feet 136 

A  Baby's  Hands '36 

Tate,  Nahum. 

While      Shepherds     watched      their 
Flocks  by  Night 169 

Taylor,  Bayard. 

A  Night  with  a  Wolf 55 


10 


INDEX  OF  A  UTHORS. 


PACE 

Taylor,  Jane. 

I  Love  Little  Pussy 36 

Thank  You,  Pretty  Cow 35 

Twinkle,  Twinkle,  Little  Star  ...  24 

Tennyson,  Alfred. 

Bugle  Song 146 

Break,  Break,  Break 144 

Little  Birdie 13 

See  what  a  Lovely  Shell 1S8 

Sweet  and  Low 137 

The  Brook no 

The  Eagle 157 

The  Snowdrop 105 

Thackeray,  William  Makepeace. 

The  Rose  upon  my  Balcony      .     .     .155 

Thaxter,  Celia. 

Spring 70 

The  Sandpiper 152 

Translations. 

A  Child's  Morning  Hymn     ....  157 

Sleep,  Baby,  Sleep 4S 

The  Tree 89 


PAGE 

Wadsworth,  Olive  A. 

Over  in  the  Meadow 16 

Warner,  Miss. 

Daffy-Down-Dilly 124 

Watts,  Isaac. 

Hush,  My  Dear,  lie  still  and  slum- 

ber 53 

The  Busy  Bee 30 

Westwood,  Thomas  B. 

Little  Bell 61 

Whittier,  John  Greenleaf. 

The  Palm  Tree 147 

The  Three  Bells 94 

Wordsworth,  William. 

March 90 

She    dwelt    among    the    Untrodden 

Ways 144 

The  Pet  Lamb 129 

The  Reverie  of  Poor  Susan  ....  159 

To  a  Butterfly 88 

To  a  Butterfly 142 

To  a  Child S, 

We  are  Seven 163 


THE  LAND  OF  SONG:  Book  I, 


PART 


"■•"E    LITTLE    BROTHER. 


MEYER   VON    BREMEN. 


VA  / 


The  Land  of  Song:  Book  I. 


PART    ONE. 


LITTLE    BIRDIE. 

\^\  7" HAT  does  little  birdie  say, 
*  *     In  her  nest  at  peep  ol  day: 
"  Let  me  fly,"  says  little  birdie, 
^fe  "  Mother,  let  me  fly  away." 

"  Birdie,  rest  a  little  longer, 
,  .       Till  the  little  wines  are  stronger." 
-  <tv--       So  she  rests  a  little  longer, 
Then  she  flies  away. 

What  does  little  baby  say, 
In  her  bed  at  peep  of  day  ? 

Baby  says,  like  little  birdie, 
"  Let  me  rise  and  fly  away.': 
"  Baby,  sleep  a  little  longer, 
Till  the  little  limbs  are  stronger. 
If  she  sleeps  a  little  longer, 

Baby,  too,  shall  fly  away." 

Alfred  Tennyson. 


14 


THE   LAND    OE  SONG:    BOOK  I. 


LADY    MOON. 

I  see  the  Moon,   and  the  Moon  sees  me  ; 
God  bless  the   Moon,   and  God  bless  me  ! 

Old  Rhyme. 

TADYMOON,  Lady  Moon,  where  are  you  roving? 
*—*  Over  the  sea. 

Lady  Moon,  Lady  Moon,  whom  are  you  loving? 
All  that  love  me. 

Are  vou  not  tired  with  rolling,  and  never 

Resting  to  sleep  ? 
Why  look  so  pale  and  so  sad,  as  forever 

Wishing  to  weep  ? 

Ask  me  not  this,  little  child,  if  you  love  me  ; 

You  are  too  bold  : 
1  must  obey  my  dear  Father  above  me, 

And  do  as  I'm  told. 

Lady  Moon,  Lady  Moon,  where  are  you  roving  ? 

Over  the  sea. 
Lady  Moon,  Lady  Moon,  whom  are  you  loving? 

All  that  love  me. 

Lord  Houghton  {Richard  Monckton  Milnes). 


THE    BABY. 


15 


THE    BABY. 


HERE    did     you 

come   from,  baby 
dear  ? 
Out  of  the  everywhere 
into  the  here. 


Where  did  you  get 
your      eyes      so 

WW     blue? 

Out  of  the  sky  as  I 


came  through. 


What  makes  the  light  in  them  sparkle  and  spin  ? 
Some  of  the  starry  spikes  left  in. 

Where  did  you  get  that  little  tear? 
I  found  it  waiting  when  I  got  here. 

What  makes  your  forehead  so  smooth  and  high  ? 
A  soft  hand  stroked  it  as  I  went  by. 

What  makes  your  cheek  like  a  warm  white  rose? 
Something  better  than  anyone  knows. 


Whence  that  three-cornered  smile  of  bliss  ? 
Three  angels  eave  me  at  once  a  kiss. 


1G  THE   LAND    OE  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

Where  did  you  get  that  pearly  ear? 
God  spoke,  and  it  came  out  to  hear. 

Where  did  you  get  those  arms  and  hands? 
Love  made  itself  into  hooks  and  bands. 

Feet,  whence  did  you  come,  you  darling  things  ? 
From  the  same  box  as  the  cherub's  wings. 

How  did  they  all  just  come  to  be  you? 
God  thought  about  me,  and  so  I  grew. 

But  how  did  you  come  to  us,  you  dear? 
God  thought  of  you,  and  so  1  am  here. 

George  Macdonalu, 


OVER    IN   THE    MEADOW. 


o 


VER  in  the  meadow, 
In  the  sand,  in  the  sun, 

|i  Lived  an  old  mother  toad 

And     her    little     toadie 


one. 
"Wink!"  said  the  mother; 

"  I  wink,"  said  the  one  : 
So  she  winked  and  she  blinked 
In  the  sand,  in  the  sun. 


OVER    IN   THE   MEADOW. 


11 


Over  in  the  meadow, 

Where  the  stream  runs  blue, 

Lived  an  old  mother  fish  

And    her    little   fishes 
two. 
"  Swim  !  "  said  the 
mother  ; 


the  two  : 
So  they  swam  and  they 
leaped 
Where  the  stream  runs  blue. 

Over  in  the  meadow, 
In  a  hole  in  a  tree, 

Lived  a  mother  bluebird 

And  her  little  birdies  three. 
"  Sino- !  "  said  the  mother  ; 
"  We  sing,"  said  the  three : 
So  they  sang,  and  were  glad, 
In  the  hole  in  the  tree. 

Over  in  the  meadow, 

In  the  reeds  on  the  shore, 
Lived  a  mother  muskrat 

And  her  little  ratties  four. 
"  Dive  !  "  said  the  mother  ; 

"  We  dive,"  said  the  four  : 
So  they  dived  and  they  burrowed 

In  the  reeds  on  the  shore. 


18  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I, 

Over  in  the  meadow, 

In  a  snug  beehive, 
Lived  a  mother  honeybee  a 

And  her  little  honeys  five.  ^^^fc'  <•'' 

"  Buzz  !  "  said  the  mother  ;  >?$$> 

"  We  buzz,"  said  the  five  :  ' 

So  they  buzzed  and  they  hummed 

In  the  snug-  beehive. 

Over  in  the  meadow, 

In  a  nest  built  of  sticks, 
Lived  a  black  mother  crow 

And  her  little  crows  six. 
"  Caw  !  "  said  the  mother  ; 

"  We  caw,"  said  the  six: 
So  they  cawed  and  they  called 

In  their  nest  built  of  sticks. 

Over  in  the  meadow, 

Where  the  grass  is  so  even, 
Lived  a  gay  mother  cricket 

And  her  little  crickets  seven. 
"  Chirp  !  "  said  the  mother  ; 

"  We  chirp,"  said  the  seven : 
So  they  chirped  cheery  notes 

In  the  o-rass  soft  and  even. 


t> 


Over  in  the  meadow, 
By  the  old  mossy  gate, 


OVER   IN   THE   MEADOW.  19 

Lived  a  brown  mother  lizard, 

And  her  little  lizards  eight. 
"  Bask  !  "  said  the  mother  ; 

"  We  bask,"  said  the  eight : 
So  they  basked  in  the  sun 

On  the  old  mossy  gate. 

Over  in  the  meadow, 

Where  the  clear  pools  shine. 
Lived  a  green  mother  fro^ 

And  her  little  frog-cries  nine. 
"  Croak  !  "  said  the  mother  ; 

"  We  croak,"  said  the  nine  : 
So  they  croaked,  and  they  plashed, 

Where  the  clear  pools  shine. 

Over  in  the  meadow, 

In  a  sly  little  den, 
Lived  a  gray  mother  spider 

And  her  little  spiders  ten. 
"  Spin  !  "  said  the  mother  ; 

"  We  spin,"  said  the  ten  : 
So  they  spun  lace  webs 

In  their  sly  little  den. 

Over  in  the  meadow, 

In  the  soft  summer  even, 
Lived  a  mother  firefly 

And  her  little  flies  eleven. 


20 


TflR    LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK   I. 


"  Shine  !  "  said  the  mother  ; 

"  We  shine,"  said  the  eleven  : 
So  they  shone  like  stars 

In  the  soft  summer  even. 

Over  in  the  meadow, 

Where  the  men  dig-  and  delve, 
Lived  a  wise  mother  ant 

And  her  little  anties  twelve. 
"  Toil !  "  said  the  mother  ; 

"  We  toil,"  said  the  twelve  : 
So  they  toiled  and  were  wise, 

Where  the  men  die  and  delve. 

Olive  A.  Wadsworth   {Katharine  Floyd  Dana 


-  —  ■  •  uSj^QtJ^!  SFr^ffi  *£**•" 


LITTLE    BOY  BLL  K. 


21 


LITTLE    BOY   BLUE. 


TITTLE    Boy  Blue,  come 

*—<     blow  your  horn, 

The  cow's  in  the  meadow,  the 

sheep  in  the  corn. 
But   where    is    the   little   boy 

tending-  the  sheep  ? 
He's  under  the  haycock,  fast 

asleep. 

Mother  Goose. 


LITTLE    BO-PEEP. 

TITTLE    Bo-Peep    has   lost 
■^^     her  sheep, 

And  can't  tell  where  to  find 
them  ; 
Leave  them  alone,  and  they'll  come  home, 

Wao-ainor  their  tails  behind  them. 

Little  Bo-Peep  fell  fast  asleep, 

And  dreamt  she  heard  them  bleating;  * 
When  she  awoke,  'twas  all  a  joke  — 

Ah  !   cruel  vision  so  fleeting- 

Then  up  she  took  her  little  crook, 
Determined  for  to  find  them  ; 


THE   LAXD    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

and  them  indeed,  but  it  made  her  heart  bleed, 
For  they'd  left  their  tails  behind  them. 

It  happened  one  day,  as  she  did  stray 

Into  a  meadow  hard  by  ; 
re  she  espied  their  tails  side  by  side. 


All  hunor  on  a  bush        dry 


Mother  G< 


A    SLEEPING   CHILD. 

T  1  PS,  lips,  open  ! 

*^     Up  comes  a  little  bird  that  lives  inside, 

Up  comes  a  little  bird,  and  peeps,  and  out  he  flies. 

All  the  day  he  sits  inside,  and  sometimes  he  sino-s  ; 
he  comes  and  out  he  goes  at  night  to  spread  his 
wingrs. 

Little  bird,  little  bird,  whither  will  you  eo  ? 
Round  about  the  world  while  nobody  can  know. 

Little  bird,  little  bird,  whither  do  you  flee? 

Far  away  round  the  world  while  nobody  can  see. 

Little  bird,  little  bird,  how  lone  will  you  roam? 
All  round. the  world  and  around  a^ain  home. 

R  Hind  the  round  world,  and  back  through  the  air. 
When  the  morning  comes,  the  little  bird  is  there. 

Back  (  the  little  bird,  and  looks,  and  in  he  flies. 

i  wakes  the  little  boy.  and  opens  both  his  eyes. 


HUSHABY,    BABY. 


23 


Sleep,  sleep,  little  boy.  little  bird's  away, 
Little  bird  will  come  again  by  the  peep 
of  day  ; 

Sleep,  sleep,  little  boy,  little  bird  must  go 
Round  about  the  world,  while   nobody 
can  know. 

Sleep,    sleep    sound,    little    bird    goes 

round. 
Round    and    round    he   goes,  —  sleep, 

sleep  sound  ! 

Arthur  Hugh  Clough. 


HUSHABY.    BABY. 

f  TUSHABY,    baby,    thy    cradle    is 

*    *■  green  ; 

Father's  a  nobleman,  mother's  a  queen  ; 
Sister's  a  lady,  and  wears  a  gold  ring; 
Brother's   a   drummer,    and   drums    for 
the  kino;. 

Rockaby.  baby,  on  the  tree-top  ; 
When  the  wind   blows  the  cradle  will 

rock  ; 
When  the  bough  breaks  the  cradle  will 

fall; 
Down  will  come  baby  and  cradle  and  all. 


Mother  Goose. 


I'l 


THE   LAND    OE  SONG:    BOOK  I. 


TWINKLE,   TWINKLE,    LITTLE   STAR! 


r 


^WINKLE,      twinkle, 

little  star  ! 
How   I   wonder  what  yon 

are, 
Up    above    the    world    so 

high, 
Like  a  diamond  in  the  sky. 

When  the  glorious  sun  is 

set, 
When  the  grass  with  dew 

is  wet, 
Then  you  show  your  little 

light. 


Twinkle,  twinkle,  all  the  night. 


In  the  dark  blue  sky  you  keep. 
And  often  through  my  curtains  peep; 
For  you  never  shut  your  eye 
Till  the  sun  is  in  the  sky. 


As  your  bright  and  tiny  spark 
Guides  the  traveler  in  the  dark, 
Though  1  know  not  what  you  are, 
Twinkle,  twinkle,  little;  star! 

Jane  Taylor, 


NURSERY  SONG.  25 

NURSERY   SONG. 

AS  I  walked  over  the  hill  one  day, 
•^*-     I  listened,  and  heard  a  mother  sheep  say, 
"  In  all  the  green  world  there  is  nothing  so  sweet 
As  my  little  lammie,  with  his  nimble  feet ; 

With  his  eye  so  bright, 

And  his  wool  so  white, 
Oh  !   he  is  my  darling,  my  heart's  delight." 
And  the  mother-sheep  and  her  little  one 
Side  by  side  lay  down  in  the  sun  ; 
And  they  went  to  sleep  on  the  hillside  warm, 
While  my  little  lammie  lies  here  on  my  arm. 

I  went  to  the  kitchen,  and  what  did  I  see 

But  the  old  gray  cat  with  her  kittens  three  ! 

I  heard  her  whispering  soft :   said  she, 

"  My  kittens,  with  tails  so  cunningly  curled, 

Are  the  prettiest  things  that  can  be  in  the  world. 

The  bird  on  the  tree, 

And  the  old  ewe  —  she, 

May  love  their  babies  exceedingly  ; 

But  I  love  my  kittens  there, 

Under  the  rocking-chair. 
I  love  my  kittens  with  all  my  might, 
I  love  them  at  morning,  noon,  and  night. 
Now  I'll  take  up  my  kitties,  the  kitties  I  love, 
And  we'll  lie  down  together  beneath  the  warm  stove," 


26 


THE    LAND    OF  SO  Mi:    BOOK   I. 


Let  the  kittens  sleep  under  the  stove  so  warm, 
While  my  little  darling  lies  here  on  my  arm. 

1  went  to  the  yard,  and  I  saw  the  old  hen 

Go  clucking  about  with  her  chickens  ten  ; 

She  clucked,  and  she  scratched,  and  she  bustled  away. 

And  what  do  you  think  1   heard  the  hen  say? 

I  heard  her  say,  "The  sun  never  did  shine 

On  anything  like  to  these  chickens  of  mine  ! 

You  may  hunt  the  full  moon  and  the  stars,  if  you  please, 

But  you  never  will  find  ten  such  chickens  as  these; 

My  dear  downy  darlings,  my  sweet  little  things, 

Come,  nestle  now  cosily  under  my  wings." 

So  the  hen  said, 

And  the  chickens  all  sped 
\^  fast  as  they  could  to  their  nice  feather  bed. 
Ami  there  let  them  sleep  in  their  feathers  so  warm, 
While  my  little  chick  lies  here  on  my  arm. 

Mrs.  (  \\  if.k. 


'-:'  £* 


MARY'S  LAMB.  27 


MARY'S    LAMB. 


A  /TARY  bad  a  little  lamb, 
*■*  *-     Its  fleece  was  white  as  snow; 
And  everywhere  that  Mary  went, 
The  lamb  was  sure  to  o-o. 


^ 


He  followed  her  to  school  one  clay,  — 

That  was  against  the  rule  ; 
It  made  the  children  laugh  and  play, 

To  see  a  lamb  at  school. 

And  so  the  teacher  turned  him  out, 

But  still  he  lingered  near, 
And  waited  patiently  about, 

Till  Mary  did  appear. 

Then  he  ran  to  her,  and  laid 

His  head  upon  her  arm, 
As  if  he  said,  "  I'm  not  afraid,  — 

You'll  keep  me  from  all  harm." 

"What  makes  the  lamb  love  Mary  so?" 

The  eager  children  cry. 
"  Oh!  Mary  loves  the  lamb,  you  know." 

The  teacher  did  reply. 

Mrs.  Sarah  J.  Hale, 


28 


THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 


COCK    ROBIN'S    DEATH. 


WHokn 

-1  i 


tiled  Cock  Robin  ? 
said  the  Sparrow, 
"  With  my  bow  and  arrow, 
I  killed  Cock  Robin  !  " 


Who  saw  him  die  ? 
"  I,"  said  the  Fly, 
"  With  my  little  eye, 

1  saw  him  die  ! ' 


Who  caugfht  his  blood  ? 

"  I,"  said  the  Fish, 
"  In  my  little  dish, 
I  caught  his  blood!  " 

Who'll  make  his  shroud  ? 

"  I,"  said  the  Beetle, 
"  With  my  thread  and  needle, 
I'll  make  his  shroud  !  " 

Who'll  dig;  his  grave  ? 

"  I,"  said  the  Owl, 

'  Willi  my  spade  and  shovel, 
I'll  dig  his  grave !  " 

Who'll  be  the  parson  ? 
"  I,"  said  the  Rook, 
"  With  my  little  book, 
I'll  be  the  parson  !  " 


COCK  ROBIN'S    DEATH. 


29 


Who'll  be  the  clerk  ? 
44  I,"  said  the  Lark, 
44  If  it's  not  in  the  dark, 

I'll  be  the  clerk !  " 


Who'll  carry  him  to  the  grave  ? 
"  I,"  said  the  Kite, 
"  If  it's  not  in  the  niofht, 

I'll  carry  him  to  the  grave  !  " 

Who'll  carry  the  link? 
44  I,"  said  the  Linnet, 
44  I'll  fetch  it  in  a  minute, 

I'll  carry  the  link  ! ' 


Who'll  be  chief  mourner  ? 
4  I,"  said  the  Dove, 
"  For  I  mourn  for  my  love, 
I'll  be  chief  mourner  !  ' 


Who'll  sing  a  psalm  ? 
44  I,"  said  the  Thrush, 
44  If  it's  not  in  the  bush, 

I'll  sing  a  psalm  ! ' 

Who'll  toll  the  bell  ? 
44  I,"  said  the  Bull, 

44  Because  I  can  pull, 
I'll  toll  the  bell !  " 


30 


THE   LAND    OF  SONG:   BOOK  I. 

And  all  the  birds  fell 

To  sighing  and  sobbing, 
When  they  heard  tell 

Of  the  death  of  Cock  Robin  ! 

Anonymous. 


THE    BUSY    BEE. 


HOW  doth  the  little  busy  bee 
Improve  each  shining  hour, 
And  gather  honey  all  the  day 
From  every  opening  flower! 

How  skillfully  she  builds  her  cell  ! 

How  neat  she  spreads  her  wax! 
And  labors  hard  to  store  it  well 

With  the  sweet  food  she  makes. 

In  works  of  labor  or  of  skill 
I  would  be  busy  too, 


LITTLE    WHITE   LILY.  31 

For  Satan  finds  some  mischief  still 
For  idle  hands  to  do. 

In  books,  or  work,  or  healthful  play, 

Let  my  first  years  be  past ; 
That  I  may  give  for  every  day 

Some  eood  account  at  last. 

Isaac  Watts. 


LITTLE   WHITE    LILY. 

T ITTLE  white  Lily 
*—*     Sat  by  a  stone, 
Drooping  and  waiting 

Till  the  sun  shone. 
Little  white  Lily 

Sunshine  has  fed  ; 
Little  white  Lily 

Is  liftine  her  head. 

Little  white  Lily 

Said,  "It  is  good  ; 
Little  white  Lily's 

Clothinof  and  food." 
Little  white  Lily 

Drest  like  a  bride  ! 
Shining  with  whiteness, 

And  crowned  beside  ! 


32  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

Little  white  Lily 

Droopeth  with  pain, 
Waiting  and  waiting- 

For  the  wet  rain. 
Little  white  Lily 

Holdeth  her  cup  ; 
Rain  is  fast  falling, 

And  filling-  it  up. 

Little  white  Lily 

Said,  "  Good  again. 
When  I  am  thirsty 

To  have  fresh  rain. 
Now  I  am  stronger, 

Now  I  am  cool  ; 
Heat  cannot  burn  me, 

My  veins  are  so  full." 

Little  white  Lily 

Smells  very  sweet ; 
( )n  her  head  sunshine, 

Rain  at  her  feet. 
Thanks  to  the  sunshine, 

Thanks  to  the  rain  ! 
Little  white  Lily 

Is  happy  again. 

(  rBORGE    M  V(  DONALD. 


ALL    THLNGS  BEAUTLFUL. 


33 


THE    LILY. 

HTHE  modest  Rose  puts  forth  a  thorn, 

■*■       The  humble  sheep  a  threat'ning  horn  : 
While  the  Lily  white  shall  in  love  delight, 

Nor  a  thorn  nor  a  threat  stain  her  beauty  bright. 

William  Blake. 


ALL  THINGS    BEAUTIFUL 


ALL  things  bright  and  beautiful, 
^*-  All  creatures  great  and  small, 
All  thinsfs  wise  and  wonderful  — 
The  Lord  God  made  them  all. 

Each  little  flower  that  opens, 
Each  little  bird  that  sings  — 

He  made  their  o-lowinor  colors, 
He  made  their  tiny  wings. 

The  purple-headed  mountain, 

The  river  running  by, 
The  morning  and  the  sunset 

That  lighteth  up  the  sky ; 


34       THE  LAND    OF  SONG:   BOOK  I. 

The  tall  trees  in  the  0-reenwood, 

The  pleasant  summer  sun, 
The  ripe  fruits  in  the  garden  — 

He  made  them  every  one. 

He  gave  us  eyes  to  see  them, 
And  lips,  that  we  might  tell 

How  great  is  God  Almighty, 
Who  hath  made  all  thines  well. 

Cecil  Frances  Alexander 


ONLY   A    BABY    SMALL. 


/"ANLY  a  baby  small, 

Dropt  from  the  skies  ; 
Onlv  a  lauohino-  face, 

Two  sunny  eyes ; 
Only  two  cherry  lips, 

One  chubby  nose  ; 
Only  two  little  hands, 

I  en  little  toes. 

(  >nly  a  golden  head, 

Curly  and  soft ; 
Only  a  tongue  that  wags 

I  .oudly  and  oft ; 
'  )nly  a  little  brain, 

Empty  of  thought ; 


THANK    YOU,    PRETTY  COW. 


35 


Only  a  little  heart, 

Troubled  with  naught. 

Only  a  tender  Mower 

Sent  us  to  rear ; 
Only  a  life  to  love 

While  we  are  here  ; 
Only  a  baby  small, 

Never  at  rest ; 
Small,  but  how  dear  to  us, 

God  knoweth  best. 

Matthias  Barr. 


WfJJ 


m 


If! 


r.»W§00t^00^ 


THANK   YOU,    PRETTY    COW. 


""HANK  you,  pretty  cow,  that  made 
-*-     Pleasant  milk  to  soak  my  bread, 
Every  day  and  every  night, 

WTarm,  and  fresh,  and  sweet,  and  white. 


36  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:   BOOK  I. 

Do  not  chew  the  hemlock  rank, 
Growing-  on  the  weedy  bank  ; 

But  the  yellow  cowslip  eat, 
That  will  make  it  very  sweet. 

Where  the  purple  violet  grows. 
Where  the  bubbling  water  flows, 

Where  the  grass  is  fresh  and  fine, 
Pretty  cow,  go  there  and  dine. 

Jane  Taylor. 


I    LOVE    LITTLE    PUSSY. 

T  LOVE  little  Pussy, 
*■      Her  coat  is  so  warm  ; 
And  if  I  don't  hurt  her, 
She'll  do  me  no  harm. 

So  I'll  not  pull  her  tail, 

Nor  drive  her  away, 
But  pussy  and  I 

Very  gently  will  play: 

She  shall  sit  by  my  side, 

And  I'll  Pfive  her  some  food  ; 

And  she'll  love  me,  because 
I  am  crentle  and  p"ood. 

I'll  pat  little  pussy, 

And  then  she  will  purr, 


WHO   STOLE    THE   BIRD'S  NEST 


37 


And  thus  show  her  thanks 
For  my  kindness  to  her. 

I'll  not  pinch  her  ears, 
Nor  tread  on  her  paw, 

Lest  I  should  provoke  her 
To  use  her  sharp  claw. 

I  never  will  vex  her, 

Nor  make  her  displeased, 
For  Puss  doesn't  like 

To  be  worried  nor  teased. 


:< 


Jane  Taylor. 


WHO   STOLE   THE    BIRD'S   NEST? 


"T 


vO-WHIT!   to-whit! 
to-whee  ! 
Will  you  listen  to  me  ? 
Who   stole    four   eggs   I 
laid  ? 
And    the    nice    nest    I 
made  ?  " 

"  Not  I,"     said     the    cow. 

"  Moo-oo! 
Such    a   thing    I'd    never 
do. 
I  gave  you  a  wisp  of  hay, 
But  didn't  take  your  nest  away, 


38 


THE  LAND    OF  SONG.-    BOOK  I. 


Not  I,"  said  the  cow.      "  Moo-oo  ! 
Such  a  thing  I'd  never  do." 


"  To-whit !  to-whit !  to-whee  ! 
Will  you  listen  to  me  ? 
Who  stole  four  eg-as  I  laid  ? 
And  the  nice  nest  I  made?" 

"  Bobolink  !   bobolink  ! 
Now,  what  do  you  think  ? 
Who  stole  a  nest  away 
From  the  plum  tree  to-day  ?" 


"Not   I,"  said    the   dog.      "Bow- 
wow ! 

I  wouldn't  be  so  mean,  anyhow  ! 

1  gave  hairs  the  nest  to  make  ; 

But  the  nest  I  did  not  take. 
Not  I,  "  said  the  dog.      "  Bow-wow 
I'm  not  so  mean  anyhow  !  " 


WHO   STOLE    THE    BIRD'S  NEST.  39 

"  To-whit  !   to-whit !   to-whee  ! 
Will  you  listen  to  me  ? 
Who  stole  four  eggs  I  laid, 
And  the  nice  nest  I  made?" 

"  Bobolink  !  bobolink  ! 
Now,  what  do  you  think  ? 
Who  stole  a  nest  away, 
From  the  plum  tree  to-day?" 

"  Coo-coo  !   coo-coo  !  coo-coo  ! 
Let  me  speak  a  word  too  ! 
Who  stole  that  pretty  nest 
From  little  Yellow-breast  ?  " 

"  Not  I,  "  said  the  sheep.     "  Oh  no ! 
I  wouldn't  treat  a  poor  bird  so, 
I  gave  the  wool  the  nest  to  line  : 
But  the  nest  was  none  of  mine. 
Baa  !   baa  !  "  said  the  sheep.      "  Oh  no  ! 
I  wouldn't  treat  a  poor  bird  so 

"  To-whit !   to-whit !  to-whee  ! 
Will  you  listen  to  me  ? 
Who  stole  four  eggs  I  laid, 
And  the  nice  nest  I  made?" 

"  Bobolink  !  bobolink  ! 
Now,  what  do  you  think  ? 
Who  stole  a  nest  away 
From  the  plum  tree  to-day?" 


j> 


40 


THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 


"  Coo-coo  !  coo-coo  !   coo-coo  ! 
Let  me  speak  a  word  too ! 
Who  stole  that  pretty  nest 

From  little  Yellow-breast  ?  " 

"  Caw  !   caw  ! "'  cried  the  crow. 
"  I  should  like  to  know 

What  thief  took  away 
A  bird's  nest  to-day  ?  " 

"  Cluck  !  cluck!  "  said  the  hen. 
"  Don't  ask  me  a^ain  ! 
Why,  I  haven't  a  chick 
Would  do  such  a  trick. 

We  all  gave  her  a  feather, 
And  she  wove  them  together. 
I'd  scorn  to  intrude 
On  her  and  her  brood. 
Cluck  !   cluck  !  "  said  the  hen. 
"  Don't  ask  me  again  !  " 

"  Chirr-a-whirr  !  chirr-a-whirr  ! 
All  the  birds  make  a  stir ! 
Let  us  find  out  his  name, 
And  all  cry  '  For  shame  ! ' " 

"  I  would  not  rob  a  bird," 

Said  little  Mary  Green. 
"  1  think  I  never  heard 

( )f  anything  so  mean." 


THE   BROWN  THRUSH. 

"  It  is  very  cruel,  too," 

Said  little  Alice  Neal. 
"  I  wonder  if  he  knew 

How  sad  the  bird  would  feel." 


41 


A  little  boy  hung  down  his  head, 

And  went  and  hid  behind  the  bed  ; 
For  he  stole  that  pretty  nest 
From  poor  little  Yellow-breast. 
And  he  felt  so  full  of  shame, 

He  didn't  like  to  tell  his  name. 

Lydia  Maria  Child. 


THE    BROWN   THRUSH. 

r  I  ^HERE'S  a  merry  brown  thrush  sitting  up  in  the 

-*-  tree, 

"  He's  sinofino-  to  me  !     He's  sinQqna-  to  me  ! ' 
And  what  does  he  say,  little  girl,  little  boy? 
"  Oh,  the  world's  running  over  with  joy ! 


VI 


THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  /. 


Don't  you  hear?     Don't  you  see? 
Hush  !     Look  !      In  my  tree, 
I'm  as  happy  as  happy  can  be  ! ': 

And  the  brown  thrush  keeps  singing,    "A  nest  da 

you  see, 
And  five  eggs  hid  by  me  in  the  juniper  tree  ? 
Don't  meddle  !  don't  touch  !  little  girl,  little  boy, 
Or  the  world  will  lose  some  of  its  joy ! 

Now  I'm  glad  !   now  I'm  free  ! 

And  I  always  shall  be, 
If  you  never  bring  sorrow  to  me." 

So  the  merry  brown  thrush  sings  away  in  the  tree, 
To  you  and  to  me,  to  you  and  to  me, 
And  he  sings  all  the  day,  little  girl,  little  boy, 
"  Oh,  the  world's  running  over  with  joy  ; 

Rut  lon^f  it  won't  be, 

Don't  you  know  ?  don't  you  see  ? 
Unless  we  are  as  good  as  can  be? " 

Lucy  Larcom. 


-Cw/- 


LITTLE  JACK  HORNER 


43 


PUSSY-CAT. 


"pUSSY-CAT, 
*~     pussy-cat, 
Where   have   you 
been  ?  ' 
"  I've  been  to  London 
To     visit     the 
Queen." 

Pussy-cat,    pussy- 
cat, 
What    did    you 
there  ?  " 


"  I  frio-htened  a  little  mouse 


Under  her  chair." 


Mother  Goose. 


LITTLE   JACK    HORNER. 


TITTLE  Jack  Horner 

■*— **  Sat  in  a  corner, 

Eating"  a  Christmas  pie  ; 

He  put  in  his  thumb, 

And  pull'd  out  a  plum, 

And  said,  "  What  a  good  boy  am  I ! ' 

Mother  Goose. 


44  THE    LAND    OE  SONG:    BOOK   /. 


WILLIE   WINKIE. 

WEE  Willie  Winkie 

*  *        Runs  through  the  town, 
Upstairs  and  downstairs, 

In  his  nightgown, 
Tapping  at  the  window, 

Crying  at  the  lock, 
"Are  the  weans  in  their  bed  ; 

For  it's  now  ten  o'clock?" 

'  Hey  !   Willie  Winkie, 

Are  you  coming,  then  ? 
The  cat's  singing  gray  thrums 

To  the  sleeping  hen  ; 
The  dog  is  lying  on  the  floor, 

And  does  not  even  peep  ; 
But  here's  a  wakeful  laddie 

That  will  not  fall  asleep." 

Anything  but  sloop,  you  rogue; 

Glowering  like  the  moon  ; 
Rattling  in  an  iron  jug 

With  an  iron  spoon  ; 
Rumbling,  tumbling:  all  about, 

Crowing  like  a  cock, 
Screaming  like  I  don't  know  what 

Waking  sleeping  folk. 


BAA,    BAA,    BLACK   SHEEP.  45 

<  Hey  !  Willie  Winkie, 

Can't  you  keep  him  still  ? 
Wriggling  off  a  body's  knee 

Like  a  very  eel ; 
Pullinof  at  the  cat's  ear 

As  she  drowsy  hums  ; 
Hey,  Willie  Winkie  ! 

See  !  there  he  comes  !  " 

WTearied  is  the  mother 

That  has  a  restless  wean, 
A  wee,  stumpy  bairnie, 

Heard  whene'er  he's  seen. 
That  has  a  battle  aye  with  sleep 

Before  he'll  close  an  e'e ; 
But  a  kiss  from  off  his  rosy  lips 

Gives  strength  anew  to  me. 

William  Miller. 


BAA,    BAA,    BLACK    SHEEP. 

13 AA,  baa,  Black  Sheep, 
•*^      Have  you  any  wool? 

Yes,  sir,  yes,  sir, 

Three  bags  full : 

One  for  my  master, 

One  for  my  dame, 

But  none  for  the  little  boy, 

Who  cries  in  the  lane. 

Mother  Goose. 


46  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 


MOTHER'S   SONG. 

A  /TY  heart  is  like  a  fountain  true 

IV X    That  flows  and  flows  with  love  to  you. 

As  chirps  the  lark  unto  the  tree, 

So  chirps  my  pretty  babe  to  me. 

And  it's  O !  sweet,  sweet !  and  a  lullaby. 

There's  not  a  rose  where'er  I  seek, 
As  comely  as  my  baby's  cheek. 
There's  not  a  comb  of  honeybee, 
So  full  of  sweets  as  babe  to  me. 

And  it's  O  !  sweet,  sweet !  and  a  lullaby. 

There's  not  a  star  that  shines  on  hicfh, 
Is  brighter  than  my  baby's  eye. 
There's  not  a  boat  upon  the  sea, 
Can  dance  as  baby  does  to  me. 

And  it's  O  !  sweet,  sweet!  and  a  lullaby. 

No  silk  was  ever  spun  so  fine 

As  is  the  hair  of  baby  mine. 

My  baby  smells  more  sweet  to  me 

Than  smells  in  spring  the  elder  tree. 

And  it's  O  !  sweet,  sweet !  and  a  lullaby. 

A  little  fish  swims  in  the  well, 
So  in  my  heart  does  babv  dwell. 


ARIEL'S   SONG.  47 

A  little  flower  blows  on  the  tree, 
My  baby  is  the  flower  to  me. 

And  it's  O  !  sweet,  sweet !  and  a  lullaby. 

The  Queen  has  scepter,  crown,  and  ball, 
You  are  my  scepter,  crown,  and  all. 
For  all  her  robes  of  royal  silk, 
More  fair  your  skin,  as  white  as  milk. 

And  it's  O  !  sweet,  sweet !  and  a  lullaby. 

Ten  thousand  parks  where  deer  run, 
Ten  thousand  roses  in  the  sun, 
Ten  thousand  pearls  beneath  the  sea, 
My  babe  more  precious  is  to  me. 

And  it's  O  !  sweet,  sweet !  and  a  lullaby. 

Anonymous. 


ARIEL'S   SONG. 

From    The   Tempest. 

\  \  /'HERE  the  bee  sucks  there  suck  I ; 

*  *        In  a  cowslip's  bell  I  lie  ; 
There  I  couch  when  owls  do  cry ; 
On  the  bat's  back  I  do  fly, 
After  summer,  merrily. 
Merrily,  merrily,  shall  I  live  now, 
Under  the  blossom  that  hanors  on  the  bou^h. 

William  Shakespeare. 


48 


THE  LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 


SLEEP,    BABY,    SLEEP! 

OLEEP,  baby,  sleep! 

Thy  father  watches  his  sheep  ; 
Thy  mother  is  shaking  the  dreamland  tree, 
And  down  comes  a  little  dream  on  thee. 

Sleep,  baby,  sleep  ! 


Sleep,  baby,  sleep  ! 

The  large  stars  are  the  sheep  ; 
The  little  stars  are  the  lambs,  I  guess  ; 
And  the  gentle  moon  is  the  shepherdess. 

Sleep,  baby,  sleep  ! 


From  the  German 


THE    NEW  MOON. 


T^VEAR      mother, 
*^  how  pretty 
The  moon  looks  to- 
night ! 
She  was  never  so  cun- 
n't'  nino-  be  lore  ; 


The  two  little  horns 
Are  so  sharp  and  so 

bright 
I  hope  she'll  not  grow 

any  more. 


THE   NEW  MOON.  49 

If  I  were  up  there, 

With  you  and  my  friends, 
I'd  rock  in  it  nicely,  you'd  see  ; 

I'd  sit  in  the  middle 

And  hold  by  both  ends  ; 
Oh,  what  a  bright  cradle  'twould  be ! 

I  would  call  to  the  stars 

To  keep  out  of  the  way, 
Lest  we  should  rock  over  their  toes  ; 

And  then  I  would  rock 

Till  the  dawn  of  the  day, 
And  see  where  the  pretty  moon  goes. 

And  there  we  would  stay 

In  the  beautiful  skies, 
And  throuo-h  the  bright  clouds  we  would 
roam  ; 

We  would  see  the  sun  set, 

And  see  the  sun  rise, 
And  in  the  next  rainbow  come  home. 

Eliza  Lee  Follen. 


HUMPTY   DUMPTY. 

TJUMPTY  DUMPTY  sat  on  a  wall, 
^  *     Humpty  Dumpty  had  a  great  fall : 
All  the  king's  horses,  and  all  the  king's  men, 
Couldn't  put  Humpty  Dumpty  together  again. 

Mother  Goose. 


50 


THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK   I. 


<3^^^-  < 


LITTLE    MAY. 


HAVE  you  heard  the  waters  singing, 
Little  May, 
Where  the  willows  oreen  are  bending 

O'er  their  way  ? 
Do  you  know  how  low  and  sweet, 
O'er  the  pebbles  at  their  feet, 
Are  the  words  the  waves  repeat, 
Night  and  day  ? 

Have  you  heard  the  robins  singing, 

Little  one, 
When  the  rosy  dawn  is  breaking,  — 

When  'tis  done  ? 
Have  you  heard  the  wooing  breeze. 
In  the  blossomed  orchard  trees, 
And  the  drowsy  hum  of  bees 

In  the  sun  ? 

All  the  earth  is  full  of  music, 
Little  May,— 


DANCE    TO    YOUR    DADDY-O. 

Bird,  and  bee.  and  water  sino-ino- 

On  its  way. 
Let  their  silver  voices  fall 
On  thy  heart  with  happy  call : 
"  Praise  the  Lord,  who  loveth  all," 

Night  and  day, 

Little  May. 


Mrs.  Miller. 


3 iSS'/f     . 


51 


JW^     c- 


•$& 


BY-LO,    BABY-BUNTING. 

DV-LO,  baby-bunting, 
*^     Papa's  gone  a  hunting ; 
To  o-et  a  little  rabbit  skin 
To  wrap  the  baby-bunting  in. 

Mother  Goose. 


DANCE   TO   YOUR   DADDY-O. 

TRANCE  to  your  Daddy-O, 
^     My  Pretty  Babby-O  ! 
Dance  for  your  Mammy-Q 
My  pet  lamb ! 


52  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

She  shall  have  a  fishy-o 

In  a  little  dishy-o  ; 

She  shall  have  a  trout 
When  the  boat  comes  in. 

She  shall  have  a  trout 

That  can  skip  about ; 

She  shall  have  a  trout 
When  the  boat  comes  in. 

Anonymous. 


OLD    GAELIC    LULLABY. 

T  T  USH  !   the  waves  are  rolling  in, 

*   f       White  with  foam,  white  with  foam  ; 

Father  toils  amid  the  din  ; 

But  baby  sleeps  at  home. 

Hush  !   the  winds  roar  hoarse  and  deep,  — 
On  they  come,  on  they  come  ! 

Brother  seeks  the  wandering  sheep  ; 
But  baby  sleeps  at  home. 

Hush!   the  rain  sweeps  o'er  the  knowes, 
Where  they  roam,  where  they  roam  ; 

Sister  goes  to  seek  the  cows  ; 
But  baby  sleeps  at  home. 

Anonymous. 


HUSH,  MY  DEAR,  LIE  STILL  AND  SLUMBER.     53 


NOW    I    LAY    ME. 

\TOW  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 

^  ^      I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep ; 

If  I  should  die  before  I  wake, 

I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  take, 

Anonymous. 


HUSH,    MY    DEAR,    LIE    STILL   AND 

SLUMBER. 

USH,   my   dear,   lie    still 

and  slumber, 
Holy   angels  guard    thy 
bed  ; 
Heavenly     blessings 
without  number 
3>    Gently  falling  on  thy 
head. 

How  much  better  thou'rt  attended 
Than  the  Son  of  God  could  be, 

When  from  heaven  He  descended, 
And  became  a  child  like  thee! 


Soft  and  easy  is  thy  cradle  ; 

Coarse  and  hard  thy  Savior  lay, 
When  His  birthplace  was  a  stable, 

And  His  softest  bed  was  hay. 


54  THE  LAND    OF  SONG:    fiOOK    Z 

I  could  give  thee  thousand  kisses, 

Hoping  what  I  most  desire  ; 
Not  a  mother's  fondest  wishes 

Can  to  greater  joys  aspire. 

Mayst  thou  live  to  know  and  fear  Him, 
Trust  and  love  Him  all  thy  clays; 

Then  go  dwell  forever  near  Him, 
See  His  face,  and  sing  His  praise ! 

Isaac  Watts 


THE    LAMB. 

[  ITTLE  lamb,  who  made  thee  ? 
-*— '  Dost  thou  know  who  made  thee  ? 
Gave  thee  life,  and  bade  thee  feed 
By  the  stream  and  o'er  the  mead  ? 
Gave  thee  clothing  of  delio-ht, — 
Softest  clothing,  woolly,  bright? 
Gave  thee  such  a  tender  voice, 
Making  all  the  vales  rejoice? 

Little  lamb,  who  made  thee  ? 

Dost  thou  know  who  made  thee  ? 

Little  lamb,  I'll  tell  thee  ; 

Little  lamb,  I'll  tell  thee: 
He  is  called  by  thy  name, 
For  He  calls  himself  a  lamb. 


A    NIGHT    WITH  A    WOLF.  56 

He  is  meek,  and  He  is  mild  ; 
He  became  a  little  child  : 
I  a  child,  and  thou  a  lamb, 
We  are  called  by  His  name. 

Little  lamb,  God  bless  thee  ! 

Little  lamb,  God  bless  thee  ! 

William  Blake. 


A   NIGHT   WITH   A   WOLF. 

T  ITTLE  one,  come  to  my  knee  ! 
■*—^    Hark  how  the  rain  is  pouring" 
Over  the  roof,  in  the  pitch-black  night, 
And  the  wind  in  the  woods  a  roaring ! 

Hush,  my  darling,  and  listen, 

Then  pay  for  the  story  with  kisses  : 

Father  was  lost  in  the  pitch-black  night, 
In  just  such  a  storm  as  this  is  ! 

High  up  on  the  lonely  mountains, 

Where  the  wild  men  watched  and  waited ; 

Wolves  in  the  forest,  and  bears  in  the  bush, 
And  I  on  my  path  belated. 

The  rain  and  the  nioht  too-ether 

Came  down,  and  the  wind  came  after, 

Bending  the  props  of  the  pine  tree  roof, 
And  snapping  many  a  rafter. 


56  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

I  crept  along  in  the  darkness, 

Stunned,  and  bruised,  and  blinded  — 

Crept  to  a  fir  with  thickset  boughs, 
And  a  sheltering  rock  behind  it. 

There,  from  the  blowing  and  raining, 
Crouchinor    \  sought  to  hide  me  : 

Something  rustled,  two  green  eyes  shone, 
And  a  wolf  lay  down  beside  me. 

Little  one,  be  not  frightened  ; 

I  and  the  wolf  together, 
Side  by  side,  through  the  long,  long  night 

Hid  from  the  awful  weather. 

His  wet  fur  pressed  against  me  ; 

Each  of  us  warmed  the  other ; 
Each  of  us  felt,  in  the  stormy  dark, 

That  beast  and  man  was  brother. 

And  when  the  falling  forest 
No  longer  crashed  in  warning, 

Each  of  us  went  from  our  hiding-place 
Eorth  in  the  wild,  wet  morning. 

Darling,  kiss  me  in  payment! 

Hark,  how  the  wind  is  roaring; 
Father's  house  is  a  better  place 

When  the  stormy  rain  is  pouring! 

Bayard  Tavlor. 


SUPPOSE. 


,  57 


SUPPOSE. 


i 


•'^  t*£r^  es-P$fc 


CUPPOSE,  my  little  lady, 

Your  doll  should  break 
her  head, 
Could  you   make  it  whole 
by  crying 
Till  your  eyes  and  nose 
^.^>Jr^     f^s^ipS:  ■  are  red  ■ 

@??0AJ^iSBt:^/i^J    And  wouldn't  it  be  pleas- 

anter 
To  treat  it  as  a  joke ; 
And  say  you're  glad  'twas 
Dolly's, 
And  not  your  head,  that  broke  ? 

Suppose  you're  dressed  for  walking, 

And  the  rain  comes  pouring  down, 
Will  it  clear  off  any  sooner 

Because  you  scold  and  frown  ? 
And  wouldn't  it  be  nicer 

For  you  to  smile  than  pout, 
And  so  make  sunshine  in  the  house 

When  there  is  none  without  ? 

Suppose  your  task,  my  little  man, 

Is  very  hard  to  get, 
Will  it  make  it  any  easier 

For  you  to  sit  and  fret  ? 


58  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

And  wouldn't  it  be  wiser, 
Than  waiting  like  a  dunce, 

To  o-o  to  work  in  earnest 

And  learn  the  thine  at  once  ? 

Suppose  that  some  boys  have  a  horse, 

And  some  a  coach  and  pair, 
Will  it  tire  you  less  while  walking- 

To  say  "It  isn't  fair"  ? 
And  wouldn't  it  be  nobler 

To  keep  your  temper  sweet, 
And  in  your  heart  be  thankful 

You  can  walk  upon  your  feet  ? 

And  suppose  the  world  don't  please  you, 

Nor  the  way  some  people  do, 
Do  you  think  the  whole  creation 

Will  be  altered  just  for  you  ? 
And  isn't  it,  my  boy  or  girl, 

The  wisest,  bravest  plan, 
Whatever  comes,  or  doesn't  come, 

To  do  the  best  you  can  ? 

Phcebe  Cary. 


THE   NORTH    WIND    DOTH  BLOW. 


59 


A    LITTLE    COCK    SPARROW. 

A  LITTLE  cock  sparrow  sat  on  a  green  tree, 
^■*-  And  he  chirrup'd,  and  chirrup'd,  so  merry  was  he, 
But  a  naughty  boy  came  with  a  small  bow  and  arrow, 
Determined  to  shoot  this  little  cock  sparrow. 

"  This  little  cock  sparrow  shall  make  me  a  stew," 
Said  this  naughty  boy,  "  Yes,  and  a  little  pie,  too." 
"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  the  sparrow,  "  I  won't  make  a  stew," 
So  he  fluttered  his  winers.  and  away  he  flew. 

Mother  Goose. 


THE   NORTH   WIND    DOTH    BLOW. 

'  I  "HE  north  wind  doth  blow, 
-*-     And  we  shall  have  snow, 
And  what  will  poor  Robin  do  then  ? 
He'll  sit  in  the  barn, 
And  keep  himself  warm, 
And   tuck    his    head    under   his  wing, 


Poor  thing ! 


Mother  Goose. 


(30 


THE    LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  / 


ROBIN    REDBREAST. 


/^OOD-BY,    good- 
^-^    by  to  summer ! 
For  summer's  nearly 
done  ; 
The    o-arden    smilincr 
faintly, 
Cool  breezes  in  the 
sun  ; 


Our  thrushes  now  are  silent, 

Our  swallows  flown  away,  — 
But  Robin's  here  with  coat  of  brown, 

And  ruddy  breastknot  gay. 
Robin,  Robin  Redbreast, 

O  Robin  dear  ! 
Robin  sings  so  sweetly 

In  the  falling*  of  the  year. 

Bright  yellow,  red,  and  orange, 

The  leaves  come  down  in  hosts; 
The  trees  are  Indian  princes, 

But  soon  they'll  turn  to  ghosts  ; 
The  scanty  pears  and  apples 

Hang  russet  on  the  bough  ; 
It's  autumn,  autumn,  autumn  late, 

'Twill  soon  be  winter  now. 
Robin,  Robin  Redbreast, 

O  Robin  dear  ! 


LITTLE    BELL. 


61 


And  what  will  this  poor  Robin  do  ? 
For  pinching  days  are  near. 

The  fireside  for  the  cricket, 

The  wheatstack  for  the  mouse, 
When  trembling  night  winds  whistle 

And  moan  all  round  the  house. 
The  frosty  ways  like  iron, 

The  branches  plumed  with  snow,  — 
Alas  !   in  winter  dead  and  dark, 

Where  can  poor  Robin  go  ? 
Robin,  Robin  Redbreast, 

O  Robin  dear  ! 
And  a  crumb  of  bread  for  Robin, 

His  little  heart  to  cheer! 

William  Allingham. 


LITTLE    BELL. 

DIPED  the  blackbird  on  the  beechwood  spray, 
-*-      "  Pretty  maid,  slow  wandering  this  way, 

What's  your  name  ?  "  quoth  he  — «- 
"What's  your  name?     O  stop,  and  straight  unfold, 
Pretty  maid  with  showery  curls  of  gold,"  — 
"  Little  Bell,"  said  she. 


62  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:   BOOK  I. 

Little  Bell  sat  down  beneath  the  rocks  — 
Tossed  aside  her  gfleamins:  golden  locks  — 
"  Bonny  bird,"  quoth  she, 
"  Sing  me  your  best  song,  before  I  go." 
"  Here's  the  very  finest  song  I  know, 
Little  Bell,"  said  he. 

And    the   blackbird   piped ; 

you  never  heard 
Half  so  gay   a   song   from 

any  bird  ;  — 
Full  of  quips  and  wiles, 
Now    so    round    and    rich, 

now  soft  and  slow, 
All   for  love  of  that  sweet 

face  below, 
Dimpled  o'er  with  smiles. 

And  the  while  the  bonny  bird  did  pour 
His  full  heart  out  freely  o'er  and  o'er, 

'Neath  the  morning  skies, 
In  the  little  childish  heart  below, 
All  the  sweetness  seemed  to  grow  and  grow, 
And  shine  forth  in  happy  overflow 

From  the  blue,  bright  eyes. 

Down  the  dell  she  tripped,  and  through  the 

glade 
Peeped  the1  squirrel  from  the  hazel  shade, 
And,  from  out  the  tree 


LITTLE    BELL. 


63 


Swung,  and  leaped,  and  frolicked,  void  of  fear, — 
While  bold  blackbird  piped,  that  all  might  hear, 
"Little  Bell!"  piped  he. 

v 

Little  Bell  sat  down  amid  the  fern  :  .     /j 

"  Squirrel,  squirrel,  to  your  task  return  —  ' mm 

Bring  me  nuts,"  quoth  she. 
Up,  away  the  frisky  squirrel  hies  — 
Golden  wood  lights  glancing  in  his  eyes  — 

And  adown  the  tree, 
Great  ripe  nuts,  kissed  brown  by  July  sun, 
In  the  little  lap,  dropped  one  by  one  ;  — 

Hark,  how  blackbird  pipes  to  see  the  fun ! 
"  Happy  Bell !  "  pipes  he. 

Little  Bell  looked  up  and  down  the  glade  ;  — 
"Squirrel,  squirrel,  if  you're  not  afraid, 

Come  and  share  with  me  ! ' 
Down  came  squirrel,  eager  for  his  fare, — 
Down  came  bonny  blackbird,  I  declare! 
Little  Bell  gave  each  his  honest  share  ; 

Ah,  the  merry  three ! 

And  the  while  these  frolic  playmates  twain 
Piped  and  frisked  from  bough  to  bough  again, 

'Neath  the  morning  skies, 
In  the  little  childish  heart  below, 
All  the  sweetness  seemed  to  grow  and  grow, 
And  shine  out  in  happy  overflow, 

From  her  blue,  bright  eyes. 


64  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

By  her  snow-white  cot  at  close  of  day, 
Knelt  sweet  Bell,  with  folded  palms  to  pray: 

Very  calm  and  clear 
Rose  the  praying  voice  to  where,  unseen, 
In  blue  heaven,  an  angel  shape  serene 

Paused  awhile  to  hear. 

"  What  orood  child  is  this,"  the  ano-el  said, 
"  That,  with  happy  heart,  beside  her  bed 
Prays  so  lovingly?" 
Low  and  soft,  O  !   very  low  and  soft, 
Crooned  the  blackbird  in  the  orchard  croft, 
"  Bell,  dear  Bell !  "  crooned  he. 

"  Whom  God's  creatures  love,"  the  angel  fair 
Murmured,  "  God  doth  bless  with  angels'  care ; 

Child,  thy  bed  shall  be 
Folded  safe  from  harm.      Love,  deep  and  kind, 
Shall  watch  around,  and  leave  good  gifts  behind, 

Little  Bell,  for  thee." 

Thomas  Westwood. 


LINES   FROM   THE  ANCIENT   MARINER. 


H 


E  prayeth  well  who  loveth  well 
Both  man  and  bird  and  beast. 


He  prayeth  best,  who  loveth  best 
All  things  both  o-reat  and  small  ; 
For  the  dear  God  who  loveth  us 
He  made  and  loveth  all. 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge. 


VIOLETS.  65 

ANSWER  TO  A  CHILD'S  QUESTION. 

^vO  you  ask  what  the  birds  say?     The  sparrow, 
*~-^  the  dove, 

The  linnet  and  thrush  say,  "  I  love  !   and  I  love  !  " 
In  the  winter  they're  silent  —  the  wind  is  so  strong; 
What  it  says,  I  don't  know,  but  it  sings  a  loud  song. 
But   green    leaves   and  blossoms   and   sunny  warm 

weather 
And  singing  and  loving  —  all  come  back  together. 
But  the  lark  is  so  brimful  of  gladness  and  love, 
The  green  fields  below  him,  the  blue  sky  above, 
That  he  sings,  and  he  sings  ;  and  forever  sings  he — ■ 
"  I  love  my  Love,  and  my  Love  loves  me  !  " 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge. 


VIOLETS. 


TNDER  the  green  hedges  after  the  snow, 
^      There  do  the  dear  little  violets  grow, 
Hiding  their  modest  and  beautiful  heads 
Under  the  hawthorn  in  soft  mossy  beds. 

Sweet  as  the  roses,  and  blue  as  the  sky, 
Down  there  do  the  dear  little  violets  lie ; 
Hiding  their  heads  where  they  scarce  may  be  seen, 
By  the  leaves  you  may  know  where  the  violet  hath 
been. 

John  Moultrie- 


66 


THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 


THE    FAIRIES   OF  THE    CALDON-LOW. 

"AND  where  have  you  been,  my  Man-, 
^  *■     And  where  have  you  been  from  me  ? ' 
"  I  have  been  to  the  top  of  the  Caldon-Low, 
The  midsummer  night  to  see  ! ': 

"  And  what  did  you  see,  my  Mary, 
All  up  on  the  Caldon-Low  ?  " 

"  I  saw  the  blithe  sunshine  come  down, 
And  I  saw  the  merry  winds  blow." 

"  And  what  did  you  near,  my  Mary, 

All  upon  the  Caldon-Hill  ?  " 
"  I  heard  the  drops  ot  the  water  made, 

And  the  ears  of  the  ereen  corn  fill." 

"  Oh,  tell  me  all,  my  Mary, — 
All,  all  that  ever  you  know  ; 
For  you  must  have  seen  the  fairies, 
Last  night  on  the  Caldon-Low." 

"Then  take  me  on  your  knee,  mother; 
And  listen,  mother  of  mine: 


THE   FAIRIES    OF  THE    CALD ON-LOW.        67 

A  hundred  fairies  danced  last  nio-ht. 
And  the  harpers  they  were  nine. 

"  And  their  harp  strings  rung  so  merrily 
To  their  dancing  feet  so  small  : 
But  oh,  the  words  of  their  talking 
Were  merrier  far  than  all." 

"  And  what  were  the  words,  my  Mary, 
That  then  you  heard  them  say  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  all,  my  mother  ; 
But  let  me  have  my  way. 

"  Some  of  them  played  with  the  water, 
And  rolled  it  down  the  hill  ; 
'And  this,'  they  said.  '  shall  speedily  turn 
The  poor  old  miller's  mill, 

"  '  For  there  has  been  no  water 
Ever  since  the  first  of  May  ; 
And  a  busy  man  will  the  miller  be 
At  dawning  of  the  da}'. 

"  '  Oh,  the  miller,  how  he  will  laugh 
When  he  sees  the  milldam  rise  ! 
The  jolly  old  miller,  how  he  will  laugh 
Till  the  tears  fill  both  his  eyes  ! ' 

"And  some  they  seized  the  little  winds 
That  sounded  over  the  hill  ; 
And  each  put  a  horn  into  his  mouth, 
And  blew  both  loud  and  shrill. 


G8  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

"  '  And  there,'  they  said,  '  the  merry  winds  go 
Away  from  every  horn  ; 
And  they  shall  clear  the  mildew  dark 
From  the  blind  old  widow's  corn. 

"  '  Oh,  the  poor,  blind  widow, 

Though  she  has  been  blind  so  loner, 
She'll  be  blithe  enough  when  the  mildew's 
gone, 
And  the  corn  stands  tall  and  strong. ' 

"  And  some  they  brought  the  brown  lintseed, 
And  flung  it  down  from  the  Low  ; 
'  And  this,'  they  said,  '  by  the  sunrise, 
In  the  weaver's  croft  shall  crrow. 


£> 


"  '  Oh,  the  poor,  lame  weaver, 
How  will  he  laugh  outright 
When  he  sees  his  dwindling  flax  field 
All  full  of  flowers  by  night !  ' 

"  And  then  outspoke  a  brownie, 
With  a  Ion  or  beard  on  his  chin: 
'  I  have  spun  up  all  the  tow,'  said  he, 
'And  I  want  some  more  to  spin. 

"  '  I've  spun  a  piece  of  hempen  cloth, 
And  1  want  to  spin  another; 
A  little  sheet  for  Mary's  bed, 
And  an  apron  for  her  mother.' 


THE   FAIRIES    OF  THE    CALD ON-LOW.        69 

"With  that  I  could  not  help  but  laugh, 
And  I  laughed  out  loud  and  free  ; 
And  then  on  the  top  of  the  Caldon-Low 
There  was  no  one  left  but  me. 

"And  all  on  the  top  of  the  Caldon-Low 
The  mists  were  cold  and  gray, 
And  nothing  I  saw  but  the  mossy  stones, 
That  round  about  me  la)7. 

"  But  coming  down  from  the  hilltop 
I  heard  afar  below 
How  busy  the  jolly  miller  was 

And  how  merry  the  wheel  did  go. 

"  And  I  peeped  into  the  widow's  field, 
And,  sure  enough,  were  seen 
The  yellow  ears  of  the  mildewed  corn 
All  standing  stout  and  green. 

"  And  down  by  the  weaver's  croft  I  stole, 
To  see  if  the  flax  were  sprung  ; 
And  I  met  the  weaver  at  his  gate, 
With  the  orood  news  on  his  tongue. 


t> 


"  Now  this  is  all  I  heard,  mother, 
And  all  that  I  did  see ; 
So,  prythee,  make  my  bed,  mother, 
For  I'm  tired  as  I  can  be." 


Maky  Howitt. 


70 


THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK   I. 


THE   LOST   DOLL. 

ONCE  had  a  sweet  little  doll,  dears, 
-*-     The  prettiest  doll  in  the  world  ; 
Her  cheeks  were  so  red  and  white,  dears, 

And  her  hair  was  so  charmingly  curled. 
But  I  lost  my  poor  little  doll,  dears, 

As  I  played  on  the  heath  one  day  ; 
And  I  cried  for  her  more  than  a  week,  dears, 

But  I  never  could  find  where  she  lay. 

I  found  my  poor  little  doll,  dears, 

As  I  played  on  the  heath  one  da}' ; 
Folks  say  she  is  terribly  changed,  dears, 

For  her  paint  is  all  washed  away. 
And  her  arms  trodden  off  by  the  cows,  dears, 

And  her  hair's  not  the  least  bit  curled  ; 
Yet  for  old  time's  sake,  she  is  still,  dears, 

The  prettiest  doll  in  the  world. 

Charles  Kixgsley. 


"*]  IE  alder  by  the  river 

Shakes  out  her  powdery  curls  ; 
The  willow  buds  in  silver 
For  little  boys  and  girls. 


SPRING.  71 

The  little  birds  fly  over  — 

And  oh,  how  sweet  they  sing  ! 

To  tell  the  happy  children 
That  once  again  'tis  spring. 

The  o-av  ereen  crass  comes  creeping 

So  soft  beneath  their  feet ; 
The  frogs  begin  to  ripple 

A  music  clear  and  sweet. 

And  buttercups  are  coming, 

And  scarlet  columbine, 
And  in  the  sunny  meadows 

The  dandelions  shine. 

And  just  as  many  daisies 

As  their  soft  hands  can  hold, 

The  little  ones  may  gather, 
All  fair  in  white  and  gold. 

Here  blows  the  warm  red  clover, 
There  peeps  the  violet  blue  ; 

O,  happy  little  children, 

God  made  them  all  for  you. 

Celia  Thaxter. 


THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 


THE   ANGEL'S   WHISPER. 


A  BABY  was  sleeping  ; 
■*-  ^   Its  mother  was  weeping; 
For  her  husband  was  far  on 

the  wild  raoqno-  Sea  ; 
And  the  tempest  was  swell- 
ing 
Round  the  fisherman's 
dwelling-, 
And     she     cried,    "  Dermot, 
darling,  oh,  come  back 
to  me  !  " 


Her  beads  while  she  numbered, 

The  baby  still  slumbered, 
And  smiled  in  her  face  as  she  bended  her  knee. 
"  Oh,  blest  be  that  warning, 

That  sweet  sleep  adorning, 
For  I  know  that  the  angels  are  whispering  to  thee  ! 

"  And  while  they  are  keeping 
Bright  watch  o'er  thy  sleeping, 

Oh,  pray  to  them  softly,  my  baby,  with  me! 
And  say  thou  wouldst  rather 
They'd  watch  o'er  thy  father, 

For  I  know  that  the  angels  are  whispering  to  thee." 

The  dawn  of  the  morning 
Saw  Dermot  returning, 


A    VISIT  FROM  ST.  NICHOLAS.  7:; 

And  the  wife  wept  with  joy  her  babe's  father  to  see; 

And  closely  caressing 

Her  child  with  a  blessing-, 
Said,  "  I  knew  that  the  angels  were  whispering  with 

thee.  Samuel  Lover. 


INFANT  JOY. 

"  T  HAVE  no  name  ; 

^    I  am  but  two  days  old." 
What  shall  I  call  thee  ? 

"  I  happy  am  ; 

Joy  is  my  name." 
Sweet  joy  befall  thee  ! 

Pretty  joy  ! 
Sweet  joy,  but  two  days  old. 
Sweet  joy  I  call  thee  : 

Thou  dost  smile  : 

I  sing  the  while, 
Sweet  joy  befall  thee  ! 

William  Blake. 


A   VISIT    FROM    ST.    NICHOLAS. 

r  J  "WAS    the    night    before    Christmas,    when    all 

*-       through  the  house 
Not  a  creature  was  stirring,  not  even  a  mouse 
The  stockings  were  hung  by  the  chimney  with  care, 


7  1  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK   L 

In  hopes  that  St.  Nicholas  soon  would  be  there. 
The  children  were  nestled  all  snug  in  their  beds, 
While  visions  of  sugarplums  danced  in  their  heads; 
And  mamma  in  her  kerchief,  and  I  in  my  cap, 
Had  just  settled  our  brains  for  a  long  winter's  nap  — 
When  out  on  the  lawn  there  arose  such  a  clatter, 
I  sprung  from  my  bed  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 
Away  to  the  window  I  flew  like  a  flash, 
Tore  open  the  shutters,  and  threw  up  the  sash  ; 
The  moon  on  the  breast  of  the  new-fallen  snow 
Gave  a  luster  of  midday  to  objects  below  ; 
When,  what  to  my  wondering  eyes  should  appear, 
But  a  miniature  sleigh  and  eight  tiny  reindeer, 
With  a  little  old  driver,  so  lively  and  quick, 
I  knew  in  a  moment  it  must  be  St.  Nick. 
More  rapid  than  eagles  his  coursers  they  came, 
And  he  whistled,  and  shouted,  and  called  them  by 

name  : 
"Now,    Dasher!    now,   Dancer!    now,   Prancer  and 

Vixen  ! 
On,  Comet !   on,  Cupid  !   on,  Donder  and  Blitzen  !  — 
To  the  top  of  the  porch,  to  the  top  of  the  wall, 
Now,  dash  away,  dash  away,  dash  away  all  !  ': 
As  dry  leaves  that  before  the  wild  hurricane  fly, 
When  they  meet  with  an  obstacle,  mount  to  the  sky, 
So,  up  to  the  housetop  the  coursers  they  flew, 
With  a  sleigh  full  of  toys  —  and  St.  Nicholas  too. 
And  then,  in  a  twinkling,  I  heard  on  the  roof 
The  prancing  and  pawing  of  each  little  hoof. 


A     VISIT  FROM  ST.   NICHOLAS. 


75 


As  I  drew  in  my  head,  and  was  turning  around, 
Down  the  chimney  St.  Nicholas  came  with  a  hound  ; 
He  was  dressed  all  in  fur  from  his  head  to  his  foot, 
And   his  clothes  were  all  tarnished  with  ashes  and 

soot : 
A  bundle  of  toys  he  had  flung  on  his  back, 

And  he  looked  like  a  peddler  just  open- 
ing his  pack. 
His    eyes,    how    they    twinkled!     his 
dimples,  how  merry ! 
His    cheeks    were    like    roses,    his 

nose  like  a  cherry  ; 
His  droll   little   mouth   was   drawn 

up  like  a  bow, 
And  the  beard  on  his  chin  was  as 
white  as  the  snow. 
The  stump  of  a  pipe  he  held  tight  in 

his  teeth, 
And  the  smoke,  it  encircled  his  head 

like  a  wreath. 
He    had    a    broad    face,    and   a   little 
round  belly 
That   shook  when  he  laughed,   like  a  bowl    full   of 

jelly. 
He  was  chubby  and  plump  —  a  right  jolly  old  elt  ; 
And  I  laughed  when  I  saw  him,  in  spite  of  myself. 
A  wink  of  his  eye,  and  a  twist  of  his  head, 
Soon  o-ave  me  to  know  I  had  nothing  to  dread. 
He  spoke  not  a  word,  but  went  straight  to  his  work, 


ro 


THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 


And  filled  all  the  stockings  ;  then  turned  with  a  jerk. 

And  laying-  his  finger  aside  of  his  nose, 

And  giving  a  nod,  up  the  chimney  he  rose. 

He  sprang  to  his  sleigh,  to  his  team  gave  a  whistle, 

And  away  they  all  flew  like  the  down  of  a  thistle. 

But  I  heard  him  exclaim,  ere  they  drove  out  of  sight, 

"  Happy  Christmas  to  all,  and  to  all  a  good  night !  " 


Clement  C.  Moore. 


GOOD    NIGHT   AND    GOOD    MORNING. 


A  FAIR  little  girl  sat  under  a  tree, 
^  *•    Sewing  as  long  as  her  eyes  could  see  ; 
Then  smoothed  her  work  and  folded  it  right, 
And  said,  "  Dear  work,  good  night,  good  night !  " 

Such  a  number  of  rooks  came  over  her  head, 
Crying,  "  Caw  !    Caw  !  "  on  their  way  to  lied, 
She  said,  as  she  watched  their  curious  flight, 
"  Little  black  things,  <>ood  night,  Liood  night!" 


GOOD   NIGHT  AND    GOOD   MORNING.         77 

The  horses  neighed,  and  the  oxen  lowed, 

The  sheep's  "  Bleat !  Bleat !  "  came  over  the  road  ; 

All  seeming-  to  say,  with  a  quiet  delight, 

"  Good  little  girl,  good  night,  good  night !  " 

She  did  not  say  to  the  sun,  "  Good  night !  ' 
Though  she  saw  him  there  like  a  ball  of  light ; 
For  she  knew  he  had  God's  time  to  keep 
All  over  the  world,  and  never  could  sleep. 

The  tall  pink  foxglove  bowed  his  head; 
The  violets  curtsied,  and  went  to  bed ; 
And  good  little  Lucy  tied  up  her  hair, 
And  said,  on  her  knees,  her  favorite  prayer. 

And,  while  on  her  pillow  she  softly  lay, 

She  knew  nothing  more  till  again  it  was  day  ; 

And  all  things  said  to  the  beautiful  sun, 

"Good    morning,    good    morning!    our   work    is 


begun." 


Lord  Houghton  {Richard  Monckton  Mi 


78  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

THE    CHILD'S   WORLD. 

"  f"*  REAT,  wide,  beautiful,  wonderful  world, 

^T  With  the  wonderful  water  round  you  curled, 
And  the  wonderful  grass  upon  your  breast,  — 
World,  you  are  beautifully  drest. 

"  The  wonderful  air  is  over  me, 
And  the  wonderful  wind  is  shaking  the  tree, 
It  walks  on  the  water,  and  whirls  the  mills, 
And  talks  to  itself  on  the  tops  of  the  hills. 

"  You,  friendly  Earth  !   how  far  do  you  go 

With   the  wheat-fields  that  nod  anil  the  rivers  that 

flow, 
With  cities  and  gardens,  and  cliffs  and  isles, 
And  people  upon  you  for  thousands  ol  miles.' 

"  Ah.  you  are  so  great,  and  I  am  so  small, 
I  tremble  to  think  of  you,  World,  at  all  ; 
And  yet,  when  I  said  my  prayers  to-day, 
A  whisper  inside  me  seemed  to  say. 

"  You  are  more  than  the  Earth,  though  you  are  such 

a  dot : 
You  can  love  and  think,  and  the  Earth  cannot!  " 

"  I illiput  Lectures.'*  Witt  iam  Brighty  Kands, 


THE  LAND  OF  SONG:  Book  I. 


PART  II, 


THE    VILLAGE    BLACKSMITH. 


-v-** 


PART    TWO. 


LULLABY    OF   AN    INFANT   CHIEF. 

/^H,  hush  thee,  my  babie,  thy  sire  was  a  knight, 
^^  Thy  mother  a  lady,  both  lovely  and  bright ; 
The  woods  and  the  glens  from  the  tower  which  we  see, 
They  all  are  belonging,  dear  babie,  to  thee. 


O,  fear  not  the  bugle,  though  loudly  it  blows, 
It  calls  but  the  warders  that  guard  thy  repose  ; 
Their  bows  would  be  bended,  their  blades  W011I4I  be 

red, 
Ere  the  step  ol  a  foeman  draws  near  to  thy  bed. 

Oh,  hush  thee,  my  babie,  the  time  will  soon  come, 
When  thy  sleep  shall  be  broken  by  trumpet  and  drum  ; 
Then  hush  thee,  my  darling,  take  rest  while  you  may, 
For  strife  comes  with  manhood,  and  waking  with  day 


Sir  Walter  Scott. 


81 


82  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:   BOOK  I. 


WISHING. 

13  ING-TING  !   I  wish  I  were  a  primrose, 

A    bright    yellow    primrose,    blowing  in   the 
spring! 

The  stooping  boughs  above  me, 

The  wandering  bee  to  love  me, 
The  fern  and  moss  to  creep  across, 

And  the  elm  tree  for  our  king;! 

Nay  —  stay!   I  wish  I  were  an  elm  tree, 
A  great,  lofty  elm  tree,  with  green  leaves  gay! 
The  winds  would  set  them  dancing, 
The  sun  and  moonshine  glance  in, 
The  birds  would  house  among  the  boughs, 
And  sweetly  sing, 

O —  no  !   I  wish  I  were  a  robin, 

A  robin  or  a  little  wren,  everywhere  to  go; 

Through  forest,  field,  or  garden, 

And  ask  no  leave  or  pardon, 
Till  winter  comes  with  icy  thumbs 

To  ruffle  up  our  wing! 

Well  —  tell!   Where  should  I  fly  to, 
Where  go  to  sleep  in  the  dark  wood  or  dell? 

Before  a  day  was  over, 

Home  comes  the  rover, 

For  mother's  kiss  —  sweeter  this 

Than  any  other  thing. 

William  Allingham. 


LITTLE   DANDELION. 


83 


LITTLE    DANDELION. 


-r 


r^  AY  little  Dandelion 
^-*   Lights  up  the  meads, 
Swings  on  her  slender  foot, 

Telleth  her  beads, 
Lists  to  the  robin's  note 
Poured  from  above  : 
Wise  little  Dandelion 
Asks  not  for  love. 

Cold  lie  the  daisy  banks 
Clothed  but  in  green, 


Where,  in  the  days  agone, 
Bright  hues  were  seen. 
Wild  pinks  are  slumbering ; 

Violets  delay  : 
True  little  Dandelion 
Greeteth  the  May. 


Brave  little  Dandelion ! 

Fast  falls  the  snow, 
Bending  the  daffodil's 

Haughty  head  low. 
Under  that  fleecy  tent, 

Careless  of  cold, 
Blithe  little  Dandelion 

Counteth  her  gold. 


84 


THE   LAND    OF  SONG;   BOOK  I. 


Meek  little  Dandelion 

Groweth  more  fair, 
Till  dies  the  amber  dew 

Out  from  her  hair. 
High  rides  the  thirsty  sun, 

Fiercely  and  high  ; 
Faint  little  Dandelion 

Closeth  her  eye. 


Pale  little  Dandelion, 

In  her  white  shroud, 
Heareth  the  angel  breeze 

Call  from  the  cloud  ! 
Tiny  plumes  fluttering 

Make  no  delay  ! 
Little  winged  Dandelion 

Soareth  away. 

Helen  B.  Bostwick. 


TO    A    CHILD. 

OMALL  service  is  true  service  while  it  lasts. 

( )t  humblest  friends,  bright  creature!  scorn  not 
one. 
The  daisy,  by  the  shadow  that  it  casts, 

Protects  the  lingering  dewdrop  from  the  sun. 

William   Wordsworth- 


A    BOY'S   SONG. 


85 


A   BOY'S   SONG. 

A  li  /HERE  the  pools  are  bright  and 

*  *  deep, 

Where  the  gray  trout  lies  asleep, 
Up  the  river  and  o'er  the  lea, 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

Where  the  blackbird  sinofs  the  latest, 
Where  the  hawthorn  blooms  the  sweet- 
est, 
Where  the  nestlings  chirp  and  flee, 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

Where  the  mowers  mow  the  cleanest, 
Where  the  hay  lies  thick  and  greenest ; 
There  to  trace  the  homeward  bee, 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

Where  the  hazel  bank  is  steepest, 
Where  the  shadow  falls  the  deepest, 
Where  the  clustering  nuts  fall  free, 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 


Why  the  boys  should  drive  away 
Little  sweet  maidens  from  the  play, 
Or  love  to  banter  and  fight  so  well, 
That's  the  thinof  I  never  could  tell. 


86 


THE   LAND    OE  SONG:    BOOK   I. 


But  this  1  know,  1  love  to  play, 
Through  the  meadow,  among  the  ha)- ; 
Up  the  water  and  o'er  the  lea, 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

James  Hogg 


SEVEN   TIMES   ONE. 

HERE'S  no  dew  left  on  the  daisies 

and  clover, 
There's  no  rain  left  in  heaven  ; 
I've  said  my  "  seven  times"  over  and 
over, 
Seven  times  one  are  seven. 

1  am  old,  so  old  1  can  write  a  letter; 
\j  My  birthday  lessons  are  done  ; 

The  lambs  play  always,  they  know  no  better, — 
They  are  only  one  times  one. 

O  Moon  !   In  the  night  I  have  seen  you  sailing 

And  shining  so  round  and  low; 
You   were   bright,   ah,   bright  !    but   your   light  is 

failing,  — 
You  are  not  hint-'  now  but  a  bow. 


You   Moon,  have  you  done  something-  wrongf  in 
heaven, 
That  God  has  hidden  your  face? 


SEVEN   TIMES    ONE. 


87 


I  hope  if  you  have,  you  will  soon  be  forgiven, 
And  shine  again  in  your  place. 


O  velvet  bee,   you're  a  dusty 
fellow  ; 
You've    powdered    your   legs 
with  o-old  ! 
O   brave   marshmary  buds,   rich 
and  yellow, 
Give  me  your  money  to  hold  ! 


O  columbine,  open  your  folded 
wrapper, 

Where  two  twin  turtledoves  dwell  ! 
O  cuckoopint,  toll  me  the  purple  clapper 

That  hangs  in  your  clear  green  bell  ! 


And  show  me  your  nest,  with  the  young  ones  in 
it, — 

I  will  not  steal  it  away; 
I  am  old!   you  may  trust  me,  linnet,  linnet, — 

I  am  seven  times  one  to-day. 

Jean  Ingelovv. 


88 


THE    LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 


TO   A    BUTTERFLY. 

'VE   watched   you    now   a    full    half- 
*■  hour, 

Self-poised  upon  that  yellow  flower  ! 
And,  little  butterfly  !   indeed, 
I  know  not  if  you  sleep  or  {eed. 
How  motionless  !  —  not  frozen  seas 

More  motionless  ;  and  then, 
What  joy  awaits  you,  when  the  breeze 
Hath  found  you  out  among-  the  trees, 

And  calls  you  forth  again  ! 

This  plot  of  orchard  ground  is  ours  ; 
My  trees  they  are,  my  sister's  flowers; 
Here   rest   your  wings   when   they  are 

weary. 
Here  lodge;  as  in  a  sanctuary! 
(Mine  often  to  us,  fear  no  wrong; 

Sit  near  us  on  the  bough  ! 
We'll  talk  of  sunshine  and  of  song  ; 
And  summer  days,  when  we  were 

young ; 
Sweet  childish  days,  that  were  as  long 

As  twenty  days  are  now. 

William  Wordsworth. 


THE    TREE 


89 


THE   TREE. 


~^HE  Tree's  early  leaf  buds  were  bursting  their 
^  brown ; 

"  Shall  I  take  them  away?"  said  the  Frost,  sweeping 
down. 
"  No,  leave  them  alone 
Till  the  blossoms  have  grown," 
Prayed  the  Tree,  while  he  trembled  from  rootlet  to 
crown. 

The  Tree   bore  his  blossoms,  and  all  the 

birds  suno- : 
"  Shall  I  take  them  away?"  said  the  Wind, 
as  he  swung. 

"  No,  leave  them  alone 
Till  the  berries  have  grown," 
Said    the  Tree,   while  his   leaflets 
quivering  hung. 

The  Tree  bore  his  fruit  in  the  mid- 


summer glow  : 
Said  the  girl,  "  May  I  gather  thy 
berries  now  ?  " 
"  Yes,  all  thou  canst  see  : 
Take  them  ;   all  are  for  thee," 
Said  the  Tree,  while  he  bent  down  his  laden  boughs 
low. 

BjORNSTJERNE    BjORNSON. 


90 


THE    J. AND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  L 


MARCH. 

PHE  cock  is  crowing, 
-^     The  stream  is  flowing, 
The  small  birds  twitter, 
The  lake  doth  glitter, 

The  green  field  sleeps  in  the  sun  ; 
The  oldest  and  youngest 
Are  at  work  with  the  strongest ; 
The  cattle  are  grazing, 
Their  heads  never  raising  ; 

There  are  forty  feeding  like  one  ! 


Like  an  army  defeated 

The  snow  hath  retreated, 

And  now  doth  fare  ill 

On  the  top  of  the  bare  hill  ; 
The  ploughboy  is  whooping — anon — 

There's  joy  in  the  mountains  ; 

There's  life  in  the  fountains; 

Small  clouds  are  sailing, 

Blue  sky  prevailing ; 
The  rain  is  over  and  gone  ! 

William  Wordsworth, 


anon 


THE    FAIRIES. 


91 


THE    FAIRIES. 

TP  the  airy  mountain, 
^    Down  the  rushy  glen, 
We  daren't  ^o  a-huntinor 

For  fear  of  little  men  ; 
Wee  folk,  good  folk, 

Trooping  all  together ; 
Green  jacket,  red  cap, 

And  white  owl's  feather! 

Down  along  the  rocky  shore 

Some  make  their  home  : 
They  live  on  crispy  pancakes 

Of  yellow  tide  foam  ; 
Some  in  the  reeds 

Of  the  black  mountain  lake, 
With  fro£s  for  their  watchdogs, 

All  nicrht  awake. 

High  on  the  hilltop 

The  old  King  sits ; 
He  is  now  so  old  and  gray, 

He's  nigh  lost  his  wits. 
With  a  bridge  of  white  mist 


92      THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK    I 

Columbkill  he  crosses, 
On  his  stately  journeys 

From  Slieveleague  to  Rosses ; 
Or  going-  up  with  music 

On  cold  starry  nights, 
To  sup  with  the  queen 

Of  the  gay  Northern  Lights. 

They  stole  little  Bridget 

For  seven  years  long ; 
When  she  came  down  again, 

Her  friends  were  all  gone. 
They  took  her  lightly  back, 

Between  the  night  and  morrow; 
They  thought  that  she  was  fast 
asleep, 

But  she  was  dead  with  sorrow. 
They  have  kept  her  ever  since 

Deep  within  the  lakes, 
On  a  bed  of  flag  leaves, 

Watching  till  she  wakes. 

By  the  craggy  hillside, 

Through  the  mosses  bare, 
They  have  planted  thorn  trees 

For  pleasure  here  and  there. 
Is  any  man  so  daring 

As  dig  them  up  in  spite, 
I  Ie  shall  find  their  sharpest  thorns 

In  his  bed  at  night. 


THE   LAND    OF  STORY  BOOKS. 


93 


Up  the  airy  mountain, 

Down  the  rushy  glen, 
We  daren't  eo  a-huntinQf 

For  fear  of  little  men  ; 
Wee  folk,  good  folk, 

Trooping  all  together ; 
Green  jacket,  red  cap, 

And  white  owl's  feather ! 

William  Allingham. 


THE    LAND    OF   STORY    BOOKS. 

|    AT    evening,    when     the 
-^  *-     lamp  is  lit, 
Around  the  fire  my  parents 

sit. 
They  sit  at  home,  and  talk 

and  sinpf, 
And  do  not  play  at  anything. 

Now,  with  my  little  gun,  I 

crawl 
All   in  the  dark  aloncr  the 
wall, 

And  follow  round  the  forest  track 
Away  behind  the  sofa  back. 

There,  in  the  night,  where  none  can  spy, 
All  in  my  hunter's  camp  I  lie, 


94  THE    LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

And  play  at  books  that  I  have  read 
Till  it  is  time  to  go  to  bed. 

These  are  the  hills,  these  are  the  woods, 
These  are  my  starry  solitudes, 
And  there  the  river,  by  whose  brink 
The  roaring-  lions  come  to  drink. 

I  see  the  others  far  away, 
As  if  in  firelit  camp  they  lay, 
And  I,  like  to  an  Indian  scout, 
Around  their  party  prowled  about. 

So,  when  my  nurse  comes  in  lor  me, 
Home  I  return  across  the  sea, 
And  go  to  bed  with  backward  looks 
At  my  dear  Land  of  Story  Books. 

R(  -1,1  11     I  .<  >UIS   S  I  \.\  EN  ;on, 


THE   THREE    BELLS. 

BENEATH  the  low-hung  night  cloud 
That  raked  her  splintering  mast, 
The  good  ship  settled  slowly, 
The  cruel  leak  grained  last. 

Over  the  awful  ocean 

Her  signal  guns  pealed  out. 

Dear  God  !   was  that  thy  answer 
From  the  horror  round  about? 


THE    THREE   BELLS.  95 

A  voice  came  down  the  wild  wind, 

"  Ho  !   ship  ahoy  !  "  its  cry  ; 
"  Our  stout  Three  Bells  of  Glasgow 

Shall  lay  till  daylight  by  !  " 

Hour  after  hour  crept  slowly, 

Yet  on  the  heaving  swells 
Tossed  up  and  down  the  ship  lights, 

The  lights  of  the  Three  Bells  ! 

And  ship  to  ship  made  signals, 

Man  answered  back  to  man, 
While  oft,  to  cheer  and  hearten, 

The  Three  Bells  nearer  ran  ; 

And  the  captain  from  her  taffrail 

Sent  down  his  hopeful  cry  ; 
"  Take  heart !   Hold  on  !  "  he  shouted, 

"  The  Three  Bells  shall  lay  by  ! '; 

All  night  across  the  waters 

The  tossing  lights  shone  ciear ; 

All  nio-ht  from  reeling-  taffrail 
The  Three  Bells  sent  her  cheer. 

And  when  the  dreary  watches 
Of  storm  and  darkness  passed, 

Just  as  the  wreck  lurched  under, 
All  souls  were  saved  at  last. 


96  THE    LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK   I. 

Sail  on,  Three  Bells,  forever, 

In  grateful  memory  sail  ! 
Ring-  on,  Three  Bells  of  rescue, 

Above  the  wave  and  <jale  ! 

Type  of  the  Love  eternal, 

Repeat  the  Master's  cry, 
As  tossing  through  our  darkness 

The  lights  of  God  draw  nigh  ! 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier 


CASABIANCA. 

PHE  boy  stood  on  the  burning  deck. 
-*-     Whence  all  but  him  had  fled  ; 
The  flame  that  lit  the  battle's  wreck, 
Shone  round  him  o'er  the  dead. 

Yet  beautiful  and  bright  he  stood, 

As  born  to  rule  the  storm  ; 
A  creature  of  heroic  blood, 

A  proud,  though  childlike  form. 

The  llames  rolled  on  —  he  would  not  go 

Without  his  father's  word  ; 
That  lather,  faint  in  death  below, 

His  voice  no  longer  heard. 

He  called  aloud  —  "  Say,  father,  say 

If  yet  my  task  is  done  ? 
1  [e  knew  not  that  the  chieftain  lay 

Unconscious  of  his  son. 


CASABIANCA.  9? 

:'  Speak,  father  !  "  once  again  he  cried, 
"  If  I  may  yet  be  gone  !  " 
And  but  the  booming  shots  replied, 
And  fast  the  flames  rolled  on. 

Upon  his  brow  he  felt  their  breath, 

And  in  his  waving  hair  ; 
And  looked  from  that  lone  post  of  death, 

In  still  yet  brave  despair. 

And  shouted  but  once  more  aloud, 

"  My  father  !   must  I  stay  ?  " 
While  o'er  him  fast,  through  sail  and  shroud 

The  wreathing  fires  made  way. 

They  wrapt  the  ship  in  splendor  wild, 

They  caught  the  flag  on  high, 
And  streamed  above  the  gallant  child, 

Like  banners  in  the  sky. 

There  came  a  burst  of  thunder  sound  — 

The  boy  —  oh  !   where  was  he  ! 
—  Ask  of  the  winds  that  far  around 
With  fragments  strewed  the  sea ! 


& 


With  mast,  and  helm,  and  pennon  fair, 
That  well  had  borne  their  part  — 

But  the  noblest  thing  that  perished  there 
Was  that  young  faithful  heart. 

Felicia  Dorothea  Hemans. 


98  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

THE    CAPTAIN'S   DAUGHTER. 

A  li  J"E  were  crowded  in  the  cabin, 

Not  a  soul  would  dare  to  sleep,  — 
It  was  midnight  on  the  waters, 
And  a  storm  was  on  the  deep. 

Tis  a  fearful  thing-  in  winter, 
To  be  shattered  by  the  blast, 

And  to  hear  the  rattling  trumpet 
Thunder,  "  Cut  away  the  mast !  " 

So  we  shuddered  there  in  silence, — 
For  the  stoutest  held  his  breath, 

While  the  hungry  sea  was  roaring, 
And  the  breakers  talked  with  Death. 

As  thus  we  sat  in  darkness, 

Each  one  busy  with  his  prayers, 

"  We  are  lost !  "  the  captain  shouted, 
As  he  staggered  down  the  stairs. 


o& 


But  his  little  daughter  whispered, 

As  she  took  his  icy  hand, 
"Isn't  God  upon  the  ocean, 

Just  the  same  as  on  the  land  ? " 

Then  we  kissed  the  little  maiden, 

Ami  we  spoke  in  better  cheer, 

And  we  anchored  safe  in  harbor 

When  the  morn  was  shining"  clear. 

James  T.  Fields. 


TO-DA  V.  99 


TO-DAY. 


CO  here  hath  been  dawning 
^  Another  blue  day  : 
Think,  wilt  thou  let  it 
Slip  useless  away  ? 

Out  of  Eternity 

This  new  day  is  born  ; 
Into  Eternity, 

At  night,  will  return. 

Behold  it  aforetime 

No  eye  ever  did  ; 
So  soon  it  forever 

From  all  eyes  is  hid. 

Here  hath  been  dawning 

Another  blue  day  ; 
Think,  wilt  thou  let  it 

Slip  useless  away  ? 

Thomas  Cari.yi.e. 


AN    EPITAPH    ON    A    ROBIN    REDBREAST. 

^READ  lightly  here  ;   for  here  'tis  said, 
-*-     When  piping  winds  are  hushed  around, 
A  small  note  wakes  from  underground, 
Where  now  his  tiny  bones  are  laid, 


LOO 


THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 


No  more  in  lone  or  leafless  groves, 
With  ruffled  wing  and  faded  breast, 
His  friendless,  homeless  spirit  roves  ; 
Gone  to  the  world  where  birds  are  blest ! 

Where  never  cat  glides  o'er  the  green, 
Or  schoolboy's  giant  form  is  seen  ; 
But  love,  and  joy,  and  smiling  Spring 
Inspire  their  little  souls  to  sing! 

Samuel  Rogers. 


THE    OPENING   OF   THE    PIANO. 


[N    the   little   southern 
fj*  1w  parlor  of  the  house  you 

may  have  seen, 
With   the    gambrel    roof, 

and   the  gable  looking 

westward  to  the  screen, 
At    the    side    toward    the 

sunset,  with  the  window 

on  its  right, 
Stood    the   London-made 

piano  I  am  dreaming  of 

to-night ! 

Ah  me!     low  I  remember  the  evening  when  it  came! 

What  a  cry  of  eager  voices,  what  a  group  of  cheeks 
in  flame, 


THE    OPENING    OF  THE   PIANO.  101 

When  the  wondrous  box  was  opened  that  had  come 

from  over  seas, 
With  its  smell  ot  mastic  varnish  and  its  (lash  of  ivory 

keys  ! 

Then  the  children  all  grew  fretful  in  the  restlessness 

of joy  ; 
For  the  boy  would   push   his   sister,   and   the   sister 

crowd  the  boy, 
Till  the  father  asked  for  quiet  in  his  grave  paternal 

way, 
But  the  mother  hushed  the  tumult  with  the  words, 

"  Now,  Mary,  play." 

For  the  dear  soul  knew  that  music  was  a  verv  sove- 

reiom  balm  ; 
She  had  sprinkled  it  over  Sorrow  and  seen  its  brow 

grow  calm, 
In   the  days  of  slender   harpsichords  with   tapping 

tinkling  quills, 
Or  caroling  to  her  spinet  with  its  thin  metallic  thrills. 

So  Mary,  the  household  minstrel,  who  always  loved 

to  please, 
Sat  down   to  the  new   "  Clementi,"  and  struck  the 

glittering  keys  ; 
Hushed  were  the  children's  voices,  and  every  eye 

grew  dim, 
As,  floating  from  lip  and  linger,  arose  the  "  Vesper 

Hymn." 


102  THE  LAND    OE  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

—  Catharine,  child  of  a  neighbor,  curly  and  rosy-red 
(Wedded  since,  and  a  widow,  —  something  like  ten 

years  dead), 
Hearing  a  oush  of  music  such  as  none  before, 
Steals  from  her  mother's  chamber  and  peeps  at  the 

open  door. 

just  as  the  "Jubilate"  in  threaded  whisper  dies, 
"  Open  it !   open  it,  lady  !  "  the  little  maiden  cries 
(For  she  thought  'twas  a  singing  creature  caged  in  a 

box  she  heard), 
•'  Open  it !   open  it,  lady  !   and  let  me  see  the  bird  !  " 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


THE    BLUEBELL. 

^HERE  is  a  story  I  have  heard  — 
■*-     A  poet  learned  it  of  a  bird, 
And  kept  its  music  every  word  — 

A  story  of  a  dim  ravine, 

O'er  which  the  towering  tree  tops  lean, 

With  one  blue  rift  of  sky  between  ; 

And  there,  two  thousand  years  ago, 
A  little  flower,  as  white  as  snow, 
Swayed  in  the  silence  to  and  fro. 

Day  after  day,  with  longing  eye, 
The  floweret  watched  the  narrow  sky, 
And  fleecy  clouds  that  floated  by. 


THE   BLUEBELL. 


103 


And  through  the  darkness,  night  by  night, 
One  gleaming  star  would  climb  the  height, 
And  cheer  the  lonely  floweret's  sight. 


Thus,  watching  the  blue  heavens 

afar, 
And  the  rising  of  its  favorite  star, 
A  slow  change  came,  —  but  not 

to  mar  ; 

For  softly  o'er  its  petals  white, 
There  crept  a  blueness,  like  the 

lio-ht 
Of  skies  upon  a  summer  night ; 

And  in  its  chalice,  I  am  told, 
The  bonny  bell  was   formed  to 

hold 
A    tiny   star   that   gleamed    like 

gold. 

And    bluebells   of   the   Scottish 

land 
Are     loved     on     every    foreign 

strand 
Where  stirs  a  Scottish  heart  or 

hand. 


Now,  little  people,  sweet  and  true, 

I  find  a  lesson  here  for  you, 

Writ  in  the  floweret's  bell  of  blue: 


104  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK   L 

The  patient  child  whose  watchful  eye 
Strives  after  all  things  pure  and  high, 
Shall  take  their  image  by  and  by. 

Anonymous. 


THE   FOUNTAIN. 

INTO  the  sunshine, 
Full  of  the  light, 
Leaping  and  flashing 
From  morn  till  night ! 

Into  the  moonlight, 
\\  niter  than  snow, 

Waving  so  flowerlike 
When  the  winds  blow  ! 


Into  the  starlight, 
Rushing  in  spray, 

Happy  at  midnight, 
Happy  by  day ! 

Ever  in  motion, 

Blithesome  and  cheery, 
Still  climbing  heavenward, 

Never  aweary  :  — 

Glad  of  all  weathers, 
Still  seeming  best, 

Upward  or  downward, 
Motion  thy  rest ;  — 


THE   SNOWDROP. 


105 


Full  of  a  nature 

Nothing  can  tame, 
Changed  every  moment, 

Ever  the  same  ;  — 

Ceaseless  aspiring, 

Ceaseless  content, 
Darkness  or  sunshine 

Thy  element ;  — 

Glorious  fountain  ! 

Let  my  heart  be 
Fresh,  changeful,  constant, 

Upward  like  thee  ! 

James  Russell  Lowell. 


THE   SNOWDROP. 


AT  ANY,  many  welcomes, 
■^ *-   February  fair-maid, 
Ever  as  of  old  time, 
Solitary  firstling, 
Coming  in  the  cold  time, 
Prophet  of  the  gay  time, 
Prophet  of  the  May  time, 
Prophet  of  the  roses, 
Many,  many  welcomes, 
February  fair-maid  ! 

Alfred  Tennyson. 


106  THE   LAND    OE  SONG:    BOOK   I. 


THE   VILLAGE    BLACKSMITH. 

TNDER  a  spreading  chestnut  tree 
^    The  village  smithy  stands  ; 
The  smith,  a  mighty  man  is  he, 

With  large  and  sinewy  hands  ; 
And  the  muscles  of  his  brawny  arms 

Are  strong  as  iron  bands. 

His  hair  is  crisp,  and  black,  and  long, 

His  face  is  like  the  tan  ; 
His  brow  is  wet  with  honest  sweat, 

He  earns  whate'er  he  can, 
And  looks  the  whole  world  in  the  face, 

For  he  owes  not  any  man. 

Week  in,  week  out,  from  morn  till  night, 
You  can  hear  his  bellows  blow  ; 

You  can  hear  him  swing  his  heavy  sledge, 
With  measured  beat  and  slow, 

Like  a  sexton  rinsfingf  the  village  bell, 
When  the  evening  sun  is  low. 

And  children  coming  home  from  school 

Look  in  at  the  open  door ; 
They  love  to  see  the  flaming  forge, 

And  hear  the  bellows  roar, 
And  catch  the  burning  sparks  that  fly 

Like  chaff  from  a  threshing  floor. 


THE    VILLAGE   BLACKSMITH  107 

He  goes  on  Sunday  to  the  church, 

And  sits  among  his  boys  ; 
He  hears  the  parson  pray  and  preach, 

He  hears  his  daughter's  voice 
Sinofino-  in  the  village  choir, 

And  it  makes  his  heart  rejoice. 

It  sounds  to  him  like  her  mother's  voice 

Sinofinof  in  Paradise  ! 
He  needs  must  think  of  her  once  more, 

How  in  the  grave  she  lies  ; 
And  with  his  hard,  rough  hand  he  wipes 

A  tear  out  of  his  eyes, 

Toiling,  —  rejoicing,  —  sorrowing, 

Onward  through  life  he  goes  ; 
Each  morning;  sees  some  task  beo-in, 

Each  evening  sees  it  close  ; 
Something  attempted,  something  done, 

Has  earned  a  night's  repose. 

Thanks,  thanks  to  thee,  my  worthy  friend, 
For  the  lesson  thou  hast  taught ! 

Thus  at  the  flaming  foree  of  life 
Our  fortunes  must  be  wrought; 

Thus  on  its  sounding  anvil  shaped 
Each  burning-  deed  and  thought ! 

Henry  Wadsvvortii  Longfellow. 


108 


THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 


THE    PARROT. 

"HE  deep  affections  of  the  breast, 
-"-     That    Heaven   to   living  things    im- 

parts, 
Are  not  exclusively  possessed 
By  human  hearts. 

A  parrot  from  the  Spanish  Main, 

Full  young-,  and  early  caged,  came  o'er 

With  bright  wings  to  the  bleak  domain 
Of  Mulla's  shore. 


To  spicy  groves  where  he  had  won 
His  plumage  of  resplendent  hue, 

His  native  fruits,  and  skies,  and  sun, 
He  bade  adieu. 

For  these  he  changed  the  smoke  of  turf 
A  heathery  land  and  misty  sky, 

And  turned  on  rocks  and  raging  surf 
His  golden  eye. 

But,  petted  in  our  climate  cold, 

He  lived  and  chatted  many  a  day, 
Until  with  age,  from  green  and  gold 

o  o  o 

His  wings  grew  gray. 

At  last,  when  blind  and  seeming  dumb, 
He  scolded,  laughed,  and  spoke  no  more, 


SING    ON,    BLITHE   BIRD!  109 

A  Spanish  stranger  chanced  to  come 
To  Mulla's  shore. 

He  hailed  the  bird  in  Spanish  speech  ; 

The  bird  in  Spanish  speech  replied, 
Flapped  round  his  cage  with  joyous  screech, 

Dropt  down,  and  died. 

Thomas  Campbell. 


SING   ON,    BLITHE    BIRD! 

'VE  plucked  the  berry  from  the  bush,  the  brown 
■*■  nut  from  the  tree, 

But  heart  of  happy  little  bird  ne'er  broken  was  by 

me. 
I   saw  them   in   their  curious   nests,  close  couching, 

slyly  peer 
With  their  wild  eyes,   like  glittering  beads,  to  note 

if  harm  were  near  ; 
I  passed  them  by,  and  blessed  them  all  ;   I  felt  that 

it  was  good 
To  leave  unmoved  the  creatures  small  whose  home 

was  in  the  wood. 

And  here,  even  now,  above  my  head,  a  lusty  rogue 

doth  sing  ; 
He  pecks  his  swelling  breast  and  neck,  and  trims 

his  little  wing. 


110 


THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 


He  will  not  fly ;   he  knows  full  well,  while  chirping  on 

that  spray, 
I  would  not  harm  him  tor  a  world,  or  interrupt  his 

lay. 
Sing  on,  sing  on,  blithe  bird  !   and  fill  my  heart  with 

summer  gladness  ; 
It  has  been  aching  many  a  day  with  measures  full 

of  sadness! 


William  Motherwell. 


it /A.,  / 


t  m 


i  ■:-• 


.■p 


I 


THE    BROOK. 

COME  from  haunts  of  coot  and  hern, 

I  make  a  sudden  sally, 
And  sparkle  out  among  the  fern, 

To  bicker  down  a  valley. 

By  thirty  hills  I  hurry  down, 
Or  slip  between  the  ridges, 

By  twenty  thorps,  a  little  town, 
And  half  a  hundred  bridges, 


THE   BROOK.  Ill 

Till  last  by  Philip's  farm  I  flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river, 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 

But  I  oro  on  forever. 

I  chatter  over  stony  ways, 

In  little  sharps  and  trebles, 
I  bubble  into  eddying  bays, 

I  babble  on  the  pebbles. 

With  many  a  curve  my  banks  I  fret 

By  many  a  field  and  fallow, 
And  many  a  fairy  foreland  set 

With  willow-weed  and  mallow. 

I  chatter,  chatter,  as  I  flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river, 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 

But  I  oro  on  forever. 


t> 


1  wind  about,  and  in  and  out, 
With  here  a  blossom  sailing, 

And  here  and  there  a  lusty  trout, 
And  here  and  there  a  grayling; 

And  here  and  there  a  foamy  flake 

Upon  me,  as  I  travel 
With  many  a  silvery  water  break 

Above  the  golden  gravel. 


112  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

And  draw  them  all  along,  and  flow 
To  join  the  brimming-  river, 

For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 
But  I  go  on  forever. 

I  steal  by  lawns  and  grassy  plots, 

I  slide  by  hazel  covers  ; 
I  move  the  sweet  forget-me-nots 

That  grow  for  happy  lovers. 

I  slip,  I  slide,  1  gloom,  I  glance, 
Among  my  skimming  swallows  ; 

I  make  the  netted  sunbeam  dance 
Against  my  sandy  shallows. 

I  murmur  under  moon  and  stars 
In  brambly  wildernesses ; 

I  linger  by  my  shingly  bars  ; 
I  loiter  round  my  cresses : 

And  out  again  I  curve  and  flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river, 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 


But  I  q;o  on  forever. 


Alfred  Tennyson. 


ROBERT   OF  LINCOLN. 


113 


ROBERT   OF    LINCOLN. 

1\  /TERRILY  swinging  on  briar  and  weed, 
^    ^      Near  to  the  nest  of  his  little  dame, 

Over  the  mountain  side  or  mead, 
Robert  of  Lincoln  is  telling  his  name  : 

Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 

Spink,  spank,  spink  ; 
Snug  and  safe  in  this  nest  of  ours, 
Hidden  anions  the  summer  flowers. 

Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Robert  of  Lincoln  is  gayly  dressed, 

Wearing  a  bright,  black  wedding  coat ; 

White  are  his  shoulders,  and  white  his  crest. 
Hear  him  call  in  his  merry  note  : 


114  THE  LAND    OF  SONG:   BOOK  I. 

Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 

Spink,  spank,  spink  ; 
Look  what  a  nice,  new  coat  is  mine, 
Sure  there  was  never  a  bird  so  fine. 

Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Robert  of  Lincoln's  Quaker  wife, 

Pretty  and  quiet,  with  plain  brown  wings, 
Passing  at  home  a  patient  life, 

Broods  in  the  grass  while  her  husband  sings 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink  ; 
Brood,  kind  creature  ;  you  need  not  fear 
Thieves  and  robbers  while  I  am  here. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Modest  and  shy  as  a  nun  is  she  ; 

One  weak  chirp  is  her  only  note. 
Braggart,  and  prince  of  braggarts  is  he, 
Pouring-  boasts  from  his  little  throat  : 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink  ; 
Never  was  I  afraid  of  man, 
Catch  me,  cowardly  knaves,  if  you  can  ! 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Six  white  eggs  on  a  bed  of  hay, 

Flecked  with  purple,  a  pretty  sight  ! 

There  as  the  mother  sits  all  day, 

Robert  is  singing  with  all  his  might  : 


ROBERT  OF  LINCOLN.  115 

Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 

Spink,  spank,  spink, 
Nice  good  wife  that  never  goes  out, 
Keeping  house  while  I  frolic  about. 

Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Soon  as  the  little  ones  chip  the  shell, 
Six  wide  mouths  are  open  for  food ; 
Robert  of  Lincoln  bestirs  him  well, 

Gathering  seeds  for  the  hungry  brood : 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
This  new  life  is  likely  to  be 
Hard  for  a  gay  young  fellow  like  me. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Robert  of  Lincoln  at  length  is  made 

Sober  with  work,  and  silent  with  care; 
Off  is  his  holiday  garment  laid, 
Half  forgotten  that  merry  air  : 
Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink, 
Nobody  knows  but  my  mate  and  I, 
Where  our  nest  and  our  nestlings  lie. 
Chee,  chee,  chee. 

Summer  wanes  ;  the  children  are  grown  ; 

Fun  and  frolic  no  more  he  knows  ; 
Robert  of  Lincoln's  a  humdrum  crone; 

Off  he  flies,  and  we  sing  as  he  goes : 


116  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  1. 

Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 

Spink,  spank,  spink, 
When  you  can  pipe  that  merry  old  strain, 
Robert  of  Lincoln,  come  back  again. 

Chee,  chee,  chee. 

William  Cullen  Bryant. 


HIE   AWAY. 

T  TIE  away,  hie  away! 
*■  **    Over  bank  and  over  brae, 
Where  the  copsevvood  is  the  greenest, 
Where  the  fountains  glisten  sheenest, 
Where  the  lady  fern  grows  strongest, 
Where  the  morning  dew  lies  longest, 
Where  the  blackcock  sweetest  sips  it, 
Where  the  fairy  latest  trips  it  : 
Hie  to  haunts  right  seldom  seen, 
Lovely,  lonesome,  cool,  and  green, 
Over  bank  and  over  brae, 
Hie  away,  hie  away  ! 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 


OVER    HILL,  OVER   DALE. 

From   Midsummer  NighVs  Dream. 

f^VER  hill,  over  dale, 

^^    Thorough  bush,  thorough  briar, 

Over  park,  over  pale, 

Thorough  flood,  thorough  fire, 


TO    THE   FRINGED    GENTIAN.  117 

I  do  wander  everywhere, 
Swifter  than  the  moone's  sphere. 
And  I  serve  the  Fairy  Queen, 
To  dew  her  orbs  upon  the  green  ; 
The  cowslips  tall  her  pensioners  be, 
In  their  gold  coats  spots  you  see, — 
Those  be  rubies,  Fairy  favors  : 
In  those  freckles  live  their  savors. 
I  must  go  seek  some  dewdrops  here, 
And  hang  a  pearl  in  every  cowslip's  ear. 

William  Shakespeare. 


TO   THE   FRINGED    GENTIAN. 

HHOU  blossom  bright  with  autumn  dew 
■*■     And  colored  with  the  heaven's  own  blue, 
That  openest  when  the  quiet  light 
Succeeds  the  keen  and  frosty  night. 

Thou  comest  not  when  violets  lean 

O'er  wandering  brooks  and  springs  unseen, 

Or  columbines,  in  purple  dressed, 

Nod  o'er  the  ground  bird's  hidden  nest. 

Thou  waitest  late  and  com'st  alone, 
When  woods  are  bare  and  birds  are  flown, 
And  frosts  and  shortening  days  portend 
The  aged  year  is  near  his  end. 


118  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

Then  cloth  thy  sweet  and  quiet  eye 
Look  through  its  fringes  to  the  sky, 
Blue  —  blue  —  as  if  that  sky  let  fall 
A  flower  from  its  cerulean  wall. 

I  would  that  thus,  when  I  shall  see 
The  hour  of  death  draw  near  to  me, 
Hope,  blossoming  within  my  heart, 
May  look  to  heaven  as  I  depart. 

William  Cullen  Bryant. 


THE    MOUNTAIN   AND   THE   SQUIRREL. 


r-p 


E     Mountain     and     the 
Squirrel 
£?    Had  a  quarrel, 

And  the  former  called  the  lat- 
ter "  Little  Prio-." 
Bun  replied  : 

"  You  are  doubtless  very  big  ; 
Hut  all  sorts  of  things  and  weather 
Must  be  taken  in  together 
To  make  up  a  year, 
And  a  sphere ; 
And  I  think  it  no  disgrace 
To  occupy  my  place. 
If  I'm  not  so  large  as  you, 
You're  not  so  small  as  I, 
And  not  half  so  spry  ; 


THE    WIND   IN  A   FROLIC.  119 

I'll  not  deny  you  make 

A  very  pretty  squirrel  track. 

Talents  differ  ;  all  is  well  and  wisely  put  ; 

If  I  cannot  carry  forests  on  my  back, 

Neither  can  you  crack  a  nut." 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 


w 


MILKING   TIME. 

HEN  the  cows  come  home  the   milk  is  com- 
ing ; 

Honey's  made  while  the  bees  are  humming  ; 
Duck  and  drake  on  the  rushy  lake, 
And  the  deer  live  safe  in  the  breezy  brake  ; 
And  timid,  funny,  pert  little  bunny 
Winks  his  nose,  and  sits  all  sunny. 

Christina  G.  Rossetti. 


THE   WIND    IN    A    FROLIC. 

PHE  wind  one  morning  sprang  up  from  sleep, 
Saying,  "  Now  for  a  frolic  !   now  for  a  leap  ! 
Now  for  a  madcap  galloping  chase  ! 
I'll  make  a  commotion  in  every  place  !  ' 
So  it  swept  with  a  bustle  right  through  a  great  town, 
Creaking  the  signs,  and  scattering  down 
Shutters,  and  whisking,  with  merciless  squalls, 
Old  women's  bonnets  and  gingerbread  stalls, 


120  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

There  never  was  heard  a  much  lustier  shout, 

As  the  apples  and  oranges  tumbled  about ; 

And  the  urchins,  that  stand  with  their  thievish  eyes 

Forever  on  watch,  ran  off  each  with  a  prize. 

Then  away  to  the  fields  it  went   blustering  and 

humming, 
And  the  cattle  all  wondered  whatever  was  coming-. 
It  plucked  by  their  tails  the  grave,  matronly  cows, 
And  tossed  the  colts'  manes  all  about  their  brows, 
Till,  offended  at  such  a  familiar  salute, 
They  all  turned  their  backs  and  stood  silently  mute. 
So  on  it  went,  capering  and  playing  its  pranks  ; 
Whistling  with  reeds  on  the  broad  river  banks  ; 
Puffing  the  birds,  as  they  sat  on  the  spray, 
Or  the  traveler  grave  on  the  king's  highway. 
It  was  not  too  nice  to  bustle  the  bags 
Of  the  beggar,  and  flutter  his  dirty  rags. 
'Twas  so  bold  that  it  feared  not  to  play  its  joke 
With  the  doctor's  wig,  and  the  gentleman's  cloak. 
Through  the  forest  it  roared,  and  cried  gayly,  "Now, 
You  sturdy  old  oaks,  I'll  make  you  bowl  ' 
And  it  made  them  bow  without  more  ado, 
Or   it    cracked    their    great    branches   through    and 

through. 
Then  it  rushed  like  a  monster  o'er  cottage  and  farm, 
Striking  their  inmates  with  sudden  alarm  ; 
And  they  ran  out  like  bees  in  a  midsummer  swarm. 
There  were  dames  with  their  kerchiefs  tied  over  their 

caps, 


THE    OWL    AND    THE   PUSSY-CAT 


121 


To  see  if  their  poultry  were  free  from  mishaps  ; 
The  turkeys  they  gobbled,  the  geese  screamed  aloud, 
And  the  hens  crept  to  roost  in  a  terrified  crowd  ; 
There  was  rearing  of  ladders,  and  logs  laying  on, 
Where  the  thatch  from  the  roof  threatened  soon  to 

to  be  crone. 
But  the  wind  had  passed  on,  and  had  met  in  a  lane 
With  a  schoolboy,  who  panted  and  struggled  in  vain, 
For  it  tossed  him,  and  twirled  him,  then  passed,  and 

he  stood 
With  his  hat  in  a  pool,  and  his  shoe  in  the  mud. 

William  Howitt. 


THE   OWL   AND   THE    PUSSY-CAT. 

'  I  "HE  Owl  and  the  Pussy-Cat  went  to  sea 

-*-  In  a  beautiful  pea-green  boat ; 

They  took  some  honey,  and  plenty  of  money 
Wrapped  up  in  a  five-pound  note. 


122  THE  LAND    OE  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

The  Owl  looked  up  to  the  moon  above, 
And  sang  to  a  small  guitar, 
"  O  lovely  Pussy  !   O  Pussy,  my  love, 

What  a  beautiful  Pussy  you  are,  — 

You  are, 
What  a  beautiful  Pussy  you  are  !  ' 

Pussy  said  to  the  Owl,  "  You  elegant  fowl ! 

How  wonderful  sweet  you  sing ! 
O  let  us  be  married,  —  too  long  we  have  tarried, — 

But  what  shall  we  do  for  a  ring-?" 
They  sailed  away  for  a  year  and  a  day 

To  the  land  where  the  Bone  tree  grows, 
And  there  in  a  wood,  a  piggy-wig  stood 

With  a  ring  in  the  end  of  his  nose,  — 
His  nose, 

With  a  rinor  in  the  end  of  his  nose. 

"  Dear  Pig,  are  you  willing  to  sell  for  one  shilling 

Your  ring?"      Said  the  piggy,  "  I  will." 
So  they  took  it  away,  and  were  married  next  day 

By  the  turkey  who  lives  on  the  hill. 
They  dined  upon  mince  and  slices  of  quince, 

Which  they  ate  with  a  runcible  spoon, 
And  hand  in  hand  on  the  edo-e  of  the  sand 

They  danced  by  the  light  of  the  moon, — 
The  moon, 

They  danced  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 

Edward  Lear. 


DISCONTENT.  123 


DISCONTENT. 


PjOWN  in  a  field,  one  day  in  June, 
*^  The  flowers  all  bloomed  together, 
Save  one,  who  tried  to  hide  herself, 
And  drooped  that  pleasant  weather. 

A  robin,  who  had  flown  too  high, 

And  felt  a  little  lazy, 
Was  resting  near  a  buttercup 

Who  wished  she  were  a  daisy. 

For  daisies  grew  so  trio-  and  tall  ! 

She  always  had  a  passion 
For  wearing  frills  around  her  neck, 

In  just  the  daisies'  fashion. 

And  buttercups  must  always  be 
The  same  old  tiresome  color ; 

While  daisies  dress  in  gold  and  white, 
Although  their  gold  is  duller. 

"  Dear  Robin,"  said  the  sad  young  flower, 
"  Perhaps  you'd  not  mind  trying 
To  find  a  nice  white  frill  for  me, 

Some  day  when  you  are  flying?" 

"  You  silly  thing !  "  the  Robin  said, 
"  I  think  you  must  be  crazy: 
I'd  rather  be  my  honest  self, 
Than  any  made-up  daisy. 


±24  THE  LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

"  You're  nicer  in  your  own  bright  gown, 
The  little  children  love  you  ; 
Be  the  best  buttercup  you  can, 

And  think  no  flower  above  you. 

"Thou of h  swallows  leave  me  out  of  sio-ht, 
We'd  better  keep  our  places  ; 
Perhaps  the  world  would  all  go  wrong 
With  one  too  many  daisies. 

"  Look  bravely  up  into  the  sky, 

And  be  content  with  knowing 
That  God  wished  for  a  buttercup 

Just  here,  where  you  are  growing." 

Sarah  Orne  Jevvett. 

DAFFY-DOWN-DILLY. 

pvAFFY-DOWN-DILLY  came  up  in  the  cold, 
*^*  Through  the  brown  mold, 

Although  the  March  breezes  blew  keen  on  her  face, 
Although  the  white  snow  lay  on  many  a  place. 

Daffy- Down-Dilly  had  heard  under  ground 

The  sweet  rushing"  sound 
Of  the  streams,  as  they  burst  off  their  white  winter 

chains  ; 
Of  the  whistling  spring  winds,  and  the  pattering  rains. 

;"  Now  then,"  thought  Daffy,  deep  down  in  her  heart, 
"  It's  time  I  should  start  !  " 


JDAFFY-D  O  WN-DILL  Y.  125 

So   she   pushed    her  soft   leaves   through    the    hard 

frozen   ground, 
Quite  up  to  the  surface,  and  then  she  looked  round. 

There  was  snow  all  about  her,  gray  clouds  overhead  ; 

The  trees  all  looked  dead. 
Then  how  do  you  think  Daffy- Down-Dilly  felt, 
When  the  sun  would  not  shine,  and  the  ice  would 
not  melt  ? 

•'  Cold  weather  !  "  thought  Daffy,  still  working  away  ; 

"  The  earth's  hard  to-day  ! 
There's  but  a  half-inch  of  my  leaves  to  be  seen, 
And  two-thirds  of  that  is  more  yellow  than  green  ! 

"  I  can't  do  much  yet,  but  I'll  do  what  I  can. 

It's  well  I  began  ! 
For,  unless  I  can  manage  to  lift  up  my  head, 
The  people  will  think  that  Spring  herself 's  dead  ! ' 

So,  little  by  little,  she  brought  her  leaves  out, 

All  clustered  about ; 
And  then  her  bright  flowers  be^an  to  unfold, 
Till  Daffy  stood  robed  in  her  spring  green  and  gold. 

O  Daffy-Down-Dilly,  so  brave  and  so  true ! 

I  wish  all  were  like  you  ! 
So  ready  for  duty  in  all  sorts  of  weather, 
And  holding  forth  courage  and  beauty  together. 

Miss  Warner, 


126  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

TN  the  bleak  midwinter 
-*-    Frosty  wind  made  moan, 
Earth  stood  hard  as  iron, 

Water  like  a  stone  ; 
Snow  had  fallen,  snow  on  snow, 

Snow  on  snow, 
In  the  bleak  midwinter 

Lono-  aero. 

Our  God,  Heaven  cannot  hold  Him 

Nor  earth  sustain  ; 
Heaven  and  earth  shall  flee  away, 

When  He  comes  to  reign. 
In  the  bleak  midwinter 

A  stable  place  sufficed 
The  Lord  God  Almighty, 

Jesus  Christ. 

Anq-els  and  archangels 

May  have  gathered  there ; 
Cherubim  and  seraphim 

Thronged  the  air. 
But  only  His  Mother, 

In  her  maiden  bliss, 
Worshiped  her  beloved 

With  a  kiss. 


ABOU  BEN  AD  HEM. 

What  can  I  give  Him, 

Poor  as  I  am  ? 
If  I  were  a  shepherd 

I  would  brinQf  a  lamb  : 
If  I  were  a  wise  man, 

I  would  do  my  part,  — 
Yet  what  I  can  I  eive  Him, 

Give  my  heart. 

Christina  G.  Rossettt. 


127 


ABOU    BEN   ADHEM. 


ABOU  BEN  ADHEM  (may  his  tribe  increase  !) 
-*■*-  Awoke  one  night  from  a  deep  dream  of  peace 
And  saw  within  the  moonlight  of  his  room, 
Making  it  rich,  and  like  a  lily  in  bloom, 
An  aneel,  writingf  in  a  book  of  o-old. 
Exceeding  peace  had  made  Ben  Adhem  bold, 
And,  to  the  presence  in  the  room,  he  said, 


128 


THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 


"What  writest  thou  ?"     The  vision  raised  its  head, 

And,  with  a  look  made  of  all  sweet  accord, 

Answered,  "The  names  of  those  who  love  the  Lord  !  " 

"  And  is  mine  one  ?  "  asked  Abou.  —  "  Nay,  not  so," 

Replied  the  angel.      Abou  spake  more  low, 

But  cheerly  still ;   and  said  —  "I  pray  thee,  then, 

Write  me  as  one  that  loves  his  fellowmen." 

The  ano-el  wrote  and  vanished.     The  next  nigfht 

It  came  ag-ain,  with  a  great  wakening  light, 

And  showed  the  names  whom  love  of  God  had  blest : 

And  lo !   Ben  Adhem's  name  led  all  the  rest ! 

Leigh  Hunt. 


NATIONAL   HYMN. 

Y  country,  'tis  of  thee, 
Sweet  land  of  liberty, 

Of  thee  I  sing  ; 
Land  where  my  fathers  died, 
Land  of  the  pilgrim's  pride, 
From  every  mountain  side 
Let  freedom  ring;. 

My  native  country,  thee  — 
Land  of  the  noble  free  — 

Tin-  name  I  love  ; 
I  love  thy  rocks  and  rills, 
Thy  woods  and  templed  hills  ; 
My  heart  with  rapture  thrills 
Like  that  above. 


THE   PET  LAMB.  129 

Let  music  swell  the  breeze, 
And  rinor  from  all  the  trees 

Sweet  freedom's  song ; 
Let  mortal  tongues  awake  ; 
Let  all  that  breathe  partake  ; 
Let  rocks  their  silence  break  — 

The  sound  prolong. 

Our  fathers'  God,  to  Thee, 
Author  of  Liberty, 

To  Thee  we  sing- : 
Loner  may  our  land  be  bright 
With  freedom's  holy  light ; 
Protect  us  by  Thy  might, 

Great  God,  our  King. 

Samuel  F.  Smith. 

THE    PET    LAMB. 

~^HE  dew  was  falling  fast,  the  stars  began  to  blink; 
-*-     I  heard  a  voice  ;   it  said,  "  Drink,  pretty  crea- 
ture, drink  !  " 
And,  looking  o'er  the  hedge,  before  me  I  espied 
A  snow-white  mountain  lamb  with  a  maiden  at  its  side. 

No  other  sheep  were  near,  the  lamb  was  all  alone, 
And  by  a  slender  cord  was  tethered  to  a  stone  ; 
With  one  knee  on  the  grass  did  the  little  maiden  kneel, 
While  to  that  mountain  lamb  she  gave  its  evening 
meal. 


130 


THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 


&£ 


; 


*** 


j^^bk 


1/ 


l« 


_ii*.  -. 


RETURN    FROM    THE    MOUNTAIN. 


P.    GIRARDET. 


THE    PET  LAMB.  131 

The  Iamb,  while  from  her  hand  he  thus  his  supper 

took, 
Seemed  to  feast  with  head  and  ears  ;    and  his   tail 

with   pleasure  shook. 
"  Drink,  pretty  creature,  drink,"  she  said  in  such  a 

tone 
That  I  almost  received  her  heart  into  my  own. 

'Twas  little  Barbara  Lewthwaite,  a  child  of  beauty 

rare  ! 
I  watched  them  with  delight,  they  were  a  lovely  pair. 
Now  with  her  empty  can  the  maiden  turned  away  : 
But  ere  ten  yards  were  gone  her  footsteps  did  she 

stay. 

Towards  the  lamb  she  looked  ;   and  from  that  shady 

place 
I  unobserved  could  see  the  workings  of  her  face  : 
It   Nature  to  her  tongue  could   measured  numbers 

bring, 
Thus,  thought  I,  to  her  lamb  that  little  maid  might 

sinof : 

"What  ails  thee,  young  one?  what?     Why  pull  so 

at  thy  cord  ? 
Is  it  not  well  with  thee  ?  well  both  for  bed  and  board  ? 
Thy  plot  of  grass  is  soft,  and  green  as  grass  can  be; 
Rest,   little   young   one,   rest;    what   is't   that  aileth 

thee? 


132  THE    LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

"  What  is  it  thou  wouldst  seek  ?     What  is  wanting 

to  thy  heart  ? 
Thy  limbs  are  they  not  strong?     And  beautiful  thou 

art ; 
This  grass  is  tender  grass;   these  Mowers  they  have 

no  peers  ; 
And  that  green  corn  all  day  is  rustling  in  thy  ears  ! 

"  If  the  sun  be  shining  hot,  do  but  stretch  thy  woolen 

chain, 
This  beech  is  standing  by,  its  covert  thou  canst  gain  ; 
For  rain  and  mountain  storms  !   the  like  thou  needest 

not  fear  — 
The  rain  and  storm  are  things  that  scarcely  can  come 

here. 

"  Rest,  little  young  one,  rest ;   thou  hast  fomot  the 

day 
When  my  father  found  thee  first  in  places  far  away; 
Many  flocks  were  on  the  hills,  but  thou  wert  owned 

by  none, 
And  thv  mother  from  thy  side  for  evermore  was  crone. 

"  He  took  thee  in  his  arms,  and  in  pity  brought  thee 

home  : 
A  blessed  day  for  thee  !   then  whither  wouldst  thou 

roam  ? 
A  faithful  nurse  thou  hast ;   the  dam  that  did  thee 

yean 
Upon  the  mountain  tops  no  kinder  could  have  been. 


THE   PET  LAMB.  133 

"  Thou  knowest  that  twice  a  day  I  have  brought  thee 

in  this  can 
Fresh  water  from  the  brook,  as  clear  as  ever  ran  ; 
And  twice  in  the  day,  when  the  ground  is  wet  with 

dew, 
I  bring  thee  draughts  of  milk,  warm  milk  it  is  and 

new. 

"  Thy  limbs  will  shortly  be  twice  as  stout  as  they  are 
now, 

Then  I'll  yoke  thee  to  my  cart  like  a  pony  in  the 
plow  ; 

My  playmate  thou  shalt  be  ;  and  when  the  wind  is 
cold 

Our  hearth  shall  be  thy  bed,  our  house  shall  be  tin- 
fold. 

"It  will  not,  will  not  rest  !   Poor  creature,  can  it  be 
That  'tis  thy  mother's  heart  which  is  working  so  in 

thee  ? 
Things  that  I  know  not  of  belike  to  thee  are  dear, 
And  dreams  of  things  which  thou  canst  neither  see 

nor  hear. 

•'  Alas,  the  mountain  tops  that  look  so  green  and  fair! 
I've  heard  of  fearful  winds  and  darkness  that  come 

there  ; 
The  little  brooks  that  seem  all  pastime  and  all  play, 
When  they  are  angry,  roar  like  lions  for  their  prey. 


134  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

"  Here  thou  needest  not  dread  the  raven  in  the  sky; 
Night  and  day  thou   art  safe,  —  our  cottage  is  hard 

by. 
Why  bleat  so  after  me  ?     Why  pull  so  at  thy  chain  ? 
Sleep  —  and  at  break  of  day  I   will  come  to   thee 

aoain." 

—  As  homeward  through  the  lane  I  went  with  lazy 

feet, 
This  song  to  myself  did  I  oftentimes  repeat ; 
And  it  seemed,  as  I  retraced  the  ballad,  line  by  line, 
That  but  half  of  it  was  hers,  and  one  half  of  it  was 

mine. 

Again,  and  once  again,  did  I  repeat  the  song; 

"  Nay,"  said  I,  "  more  than  half  to  the  damsel  must 

belong, 

For  she  looked  with  such  a  look,  and  she  spake  with 

such  a  tone, 
Hi  at  1  almost  received  her  heart  into  my  own." 

William  Wordsworth. 


CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

AS  Joseph  was  a-walking, 
^   He  heard  an  angfel  sinp-, 
""  This  niofht  shall  be  the  birthnipfht 
Ot  Christ  our  heavenly  King. 


CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  135 

"  His  birth-bed  shall  be  neither 
In  housen  nor  in  hall, 
Nor  in  the  place  of  paradise, 
But  in  the  oxen's  stall. 

"  He  neither  shall  be  rocked 
In  silver  nor  in  o-old, 
But  in  the  wooden  manger 
That  lieth  in  the  mold. 

"  He  neither  shall  be  washen 

With  white  wine  nor  with  red, 
But  with  the  fair  spring'  water 
That  on  you  shall  be  shed. 

"  He  neither  shall  be  clothed 
In  purple  nor  in  pall, 
But  in  the  fair,  white  linen 
That  usen  babies  all." 

As  Joseph  was  a-walking, 

Thus  did  the  ano-el  sin  or, 
And  Mary's  son  at  midnight 

Was  born  to  be  our  Kino-. 


&>■ 


Then  be  you  glad,  good  people, 

At  this  time  of  the  year; 
And  light  you  up  your  candles, 

For  His  star  it  shineth  clear. 

Anonymous  (Old  English), 


136  THE   LAND    OE  SONG .    BOOK  I. 


A   BABY'S   FEET. 

A    BABY'S  feet,  like  seashells  pink, 
-**•     Might  tempt,  should  heaven  see  meet, 
An  angel's  lips  to  kiss,  we  think,  — 
A  baby's  feet. 

Like  rose-hued  sea  flowers  toward  the  heat 

They  stretch  and  spread  and  wink 
Their  ten  soft  buds  that  part  and  meet. 

No  flower  bells  that  expand  and  shrink 

Gleam  half  so  heavenly  sweet, 
As  shine  on  life's  untrodden  brink, — 
A  baby's  feet. 

Algernon  Charles  Swinburne. 


A    BABY'S    HANDS. 

A  BABY'S  hands,  like  rosebuds  furled, 
^  *-    Whence  yet  no  leaf  expands, 
Ope  if  you  touch,  though  close  upcurled, — 
A  baby's  hands. 

Then,  even  as  warriors  grip  their  brands 

When  battle's  bolt  is  hurled, 
They  close,  clenched  hard  like  tightening  bands. 


SWEET  AND   LOW.  L37 

No  rosebuds  yet  by  dawn  impearled 

Match,  even  in  loveliest  lands, 
The  sweetest  flowers  in  all  the  world,  — 
A  baby's  hands. 

Algernon  Charles  Swinburne. 


S1 


SWEET   AND    LOW. 

WEET  and  low,  sweet  and  low, 
Wind  of  the  western  sea, 
Low,  low,  breathe  and  blow, 
Wind  of  the  western  sea  ! 
Over  the  rolling  waters  o-o, 
Come  from  the  dying  moon,  and  blow, 
Blow  him  aofain  to  me  ; 
While  my  little  one,  while  my  pretty  one,  sleeps. 

Sleep  and  rest,  sleep  and  rest, 
Father  will  come  to  thee  soon  ; 

Rest,  rest,  on  mother's  breast, 
Father  will  come  to  thee  soon  ; 

Father  will  come  to  his  babe  in  the  nest, 

Silver  sails  all  out  of  the  west 
Under  the  silver  moon  ; 
Sleep,  my  little  one,  sleep,  my  pretty  one,  sleep. 

Alfred  Tennyson. 


138 


THE  LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 


CONSIDER. 


/^ONSIDER 

The    lilies    of    the    field    whose 

bloom  is  brief:  — 
We  are  as  they; 
Like  them  we  fade  away, 

As  doth  a  leaf. 


Consider 
The  sparrows   of  the  air  of  small 
account: 
Our  God  doth  view 
Whether  they  fall  or  mount, — 
He  qaiards  us  too. 


Consider 
The  lilies  that  do  neither  spin  nor  toil, 
Yet  are  most  fair  :  — 
What  profits  all  this  care 
And  all  this  coil  ? 


Consider 
Iiie  birds  that  have  no  barn  nor  harvest-weeks  ; 

God  o-ives  them  food  :  — 
Much  more  our  Father  seeks 


To  do  us  ;j'ood. 


Christina  G.  Rossetti. 


THE  LAND  OF  SONG:  Book  I, 


PART  III. 


-V 


THE   PEI"    BIRD. 


*EM     VUN    Ii     EMI     .. 


PART    THREE. 


I    REMEMBER,    I    REMEMBER. 

T  REMEMBER,  I  remember, 
■*•   The  house  where  I  was  born, 
The  little  window  where  the  sun 

Came  peeping  in  at  morn  ; 
He  never  came  a  wink  too  soon, 

Nor  brought  too  long  a  day, 
But  now  I  often  wish  the  night 

Had  borne  my  breath  away! 

I  remember,  I  remember, 

The  roses,  red  and  white, 
The  vi'lets,  and  the  lily-cups, 

Those  flowers  made  of  light ! 
The  lilacs  where  the  robin  built. 

And  where  my  brother  set 
The  laburnum  on  his  birthday, — 

The  tree  is  living  yet  { 

141 


ML'  THE    LAND    OF  SONG :    BOOK  I. 

I  remember,  I  remember, 

Where  I  was  used  to  swing, 
And  thought  the  air  must  rush  as  fresh 

To  swallows  on  the  wing  ; 
My  spirit  flew  in  feathers  then, 

That  is  so  heavy  now, 
And  summer  pools  could  hardly  cool 

The  fever  on  my  brow ! 

I  remember,  I  remember, 

The  fir  trees  dark  and  high  ; 
I  used  to  think  their  slender  tops 

Were  close  against  the  sky  : 
It  was  a  childish  ignorance, 

But  now  'tis  little  joy 
To  know  I'm  farther  off  from  heav'n 

Than  when  I  was  a  boy. 

Thomas  Hood. 


TO    A    BUTTERFLY. 

OTAY  near  me  —  do  not  take  thy  flight! 

A  liulc  longfer  stav  m  sig'ht ! 
Much  converse  do  I  find  in  thee, 
I  listorian  <>l  my  infancy  ! 
bloat  near  me;  do  not  yet  depart! 
1  )ead  times  revive  in  thee : 
Thou  bring'st,  <<av  creature  as  thou  art! 
A  solemn  image  to  my  heart, 
My  father's  family ! 


LIKE    CRUSOE.  143 

Oh  !   pleasant,  pleasant  were  the  clays, 
The  time,  when,  in  our  childish  plays, 
My  sister  Emmeline  and  I 
Together  chased  the  butterfly! 
A  very  hunter  did  I  rush 
Upon  the  prey  :  —  with  leaps  and  springs 
I  followed  on  from  brake  to  bush  ; 
But  she,  God  love  her !   feared  to  brush 
The  dust  from  off  its  wings. 

William  Wordsworth. 


LIKE    CRUSOE   WALKING    BY   THE 
LONELY    STRAND. 

TIKE  Crusoe,  walking  by  the  lonely  strand 
*—^  And  seeing  a  human  footprint  on  the  sand, 
Llave  I  this  day  been  startled,  finding  here, 
Set  in  brown  mold  and  delicately  clear, 
Spring's  footprint  —  the  first  crocus  of  the  year! 
O  sweet  invasion  !      Farewell,  solitude  ! 
Soon  shall  wild  creatures  of  the  field  and  wood 
Flock  from  all  sides  with  much  ado  and  stir, 
And  make  of  me  most  willing  prisoner  ! 

Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich. 


i  II 


THE   LAND    OE  SONG:    BOOK  I. 


SHE    DWELT   AMONG   THE    UNTRODDEN 

WAYS. 


$£&*&&&&& $t>\  CT  HE  dweltamong  the  un- 
mS.  Ws!MBi  trodden  ways 

Beside    the    springs    of 
Dove, 
A  maid,  whom  there  were 
none  to  praise 
And  very  few  to  love  : 

A  violet  by  a  mossy  stone 
Half   hidden    from    the 
eye  ! 
-  Fair  as  a  star,  when  only 
one 
Is  shining  in  the  sky. 

She  lived  unknown,  and  few  could  know 

When  Lucy  ceased  to  be  ; 

Rut  she  is  in  her  grave,  and,  oh, 

The  difference  to  me  ! 

William  Worhsworth. 


msm 


BREAK,  BREAK,  BREAK. 

T^REAK,  break,  break, 
-^   On  thy  cold,  gray  stones,  O  Sea! 
And  1  would  that  my  tongue  could  utter 
The  thoughts  that  arise  in  me. 


BREAK,    BREAK,    BREAK.  145 

Oh,  well  for  the  fisherman's  boy, 

That  he  shouts  with  his  sister  at  play ! 

Oh,  well  for  the  sailor  lad, 

That  he  sings  in  his  boat  on  the  bay ! 

And  the  stately  ships  go  on 

To  their  haven  under  the  hill  ; 
But  oh,  for  the  touch  of  a  vanished  hand, 

And  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  is  still ! 

Break,  break,  break, 

At  the  foot  of  thy  crags,  O  Sea  ! 
But  the  tender  grace  of  a  day  that  is  dead 

Will  never  come  back  to  me. 

Alfred  Tennyson. 


146 


THE  LAND    OF  SONG:   BOOK  I. 


BUGLE   SONG. 

rHE  splendor  falls  on  castle  walls, 
■*■     And  snowy  summits  old  in  story : 

The  long  light  shakes  across  the  lakes, 
And  the  wild  cataract  leaps  in  glory. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow,  set  the  wild  echoes  Hying, 
Blow,  bugle  ;  answer,  echoes,  dying,  dying,  dying. 

Oh,  hark,  oh,  hear!   how  thin  and  clear, 

And  thinner,  clearer,  farther  going  ! 
Oh,  sweet  and  far,  from  cliff  and  scar, 
The  horns  of  Elfland  faintly  blowing! 
Blow,  let  us  hear  the  purple  glens  replying : 
Blow,  bugle  ;   answer,  echoes,  dying,  dying,  dying 


Oh,  love,  they  die  in  yon  rich  sky, 

They  faint  on  hill  or  field  or  river: 
Our  echoes  roll  from  soul  to  soul, 
And  otow  forever  and  forever. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow,  set  the  wild  echoes  flying, 
And  answer,  echoes,  answer,  dying,  dying,  dying 

Alfred  Tennyson. 


UNDER    THE    GREENWOOD    TREE.  147 

UNDER  THE    GREENWOOD   TREE. 

T  TNDER  the  greenwood  tree 
^    Who  loves  to  lie  with  me, 
And  tune  his  merry  note 
Unto  the  sweet  bird's  throat,  — 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither ! 
Here  shall  we  see 
No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

Who  doth  ambition  shun 
And  loves  to  live  i'  the  sun, 
Seeking  the  food  he  eats 
And  pleased  with  what  he  gets  — 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither ! 
Here  shall  we  see 
No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

William  Shakespeare 


THE    PALM    TREE. 

TS  it  the  palm,  the  cocoa  palm, 

■*■    On  the  Indian  sea  by  the  isles  of  balm  ? 

Or  is  it  a  ship  in  the  breezeless  calm  ? 

A  ship  whose  keel  is  of  palm  beneath, 
Whose  ribs  of  palm  have  a  palm-bark  sheath, 
And  a  rudder  of  palm  it  steereth  with. 


148  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK   L 

Branches  of  palm  are  its  spars  and  rails, 
Fibers  of  palm  are  its  woven  sails, 
And  the  rope  is  of  palm  that  idly  trails. 

What  does  the  good  ship  bear  so  well  ? 
The  cocoanut  with  its  stony  shell, 
And  the  milky  sap  of  its  inner  cell. 

What  are  its  jars,  so  smooth  and  fine, 

But  hollowed  nuts,  filled  with  oil  and  wine, 

And  the  cabbage  that  ripens  under  the  Line  ? 

The  master  he  sits  on  a  palm  mat  soft, 
From  a  beaker  of  palm  his  drink  is  quaffed, 
And  a  palm  thatch  shields  from  the  sun  aloft. 

His  dress  is  woven  of  palmy  strands, 

And  he  holds  a  palm-leaf  scroll  in  his  hands, 

Traced  with  the  Prophet's  wise  commands. 

The  turban  folded  about  his  head 

Was  daintily  wrought  of  the  palm-leaf  braid, 

And  the  fan  that  cools  him  ot  palm  was  made. 

Of  threads  of  palm  was  the  carpet  spun 
Whereon  he  kneels  when  the  day  is  done, 
And  the  foreheads  of  Islam  are  bowed  as  one  ! 

To  him  the  palm  is  a  gift  divine. 
Wherein  all  uses  ot  man  combine, — 
House,  and  raiment,  and  food,  and  wine. 


THE    PALM    TREE. 


14VJ 


And,  in  the  hour  of  his  great  release, 
His  need  of  the  palm  shall  only  cease 
With  the  shroud  wherein  he  lieth  in  peace. 

■'Allah  il  Allah  !  "  he  sings  his  psalm, 
On  the  Indian  sea,  by  the  isles  of  balm  ; 
;  Thanks  to  Allah  who  gives  the  palm ! ' 

John  Greknleaf  Whittier. 


-^ 


• 


150  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

ALEC   YEATON'S   SON. 

Gloucester,  August,  1720. 

"^HE  wind  it  wailed,  the  wind  it  moaned, 
A       And  the  white  caps  flecked  the  sea  ; 
"An'  I  would  to  God,"  the  skipper  groaned, 
"  I  had  not  my  boy  with  me  !  ' 

Snug  in  the  stern  sheets,  little  John 
Laughed  as  the  scud  swept  by  ; 

But  the  skipper's  sunburnt  cheek  grew  wan 
As  he  watched  the  wicked  sky. 

"  Would  he  were  at  his  mother's  side  ! '' 
And  the  skipper's  eyes  were  dim. 

"  Good  Lord  in  heaven,  if  ill  betide, 
What  would  become  of  him  ! 

"  For  me,  my  muscles  are  as  steel, 
For  me,  let  hap  what  may  ; 
I  might  make  shift  upon  the  keel 
Until  the  break  o'  day. 

"  But  he,  he  is  so  weak  and  small, 

So  young,  scarce  learned  to  stand, — 
O  pitying  father  of  us  all, 
I  trust  him  in  Thy  hand  ! 


"  For  thou,  who  markest  from  on  hig-h 
A  sparrow's  fall,  each  one! 
Surely,  ()  Lord,  thou'lt  have  an  eye 
<  )n  Alec  Yeaton's  son  !  ' 


ALEC    YE  A  TON'S   SON.  151 

Then,  helm  hard  port,  right  straight  he  sailed, 

Towards  the  headland  light : 
The  wind  it  moaned,  the  wind  it  wailed 

And  black,  black  fell  the  night. 

Then  burst  a  storm  to  make  one  quail 

Though  housed  from  winds  and  waves,  — 

They  who  could  tell  about  that  gale 
Must  rise  from  watery  graves  ! 

Sudden  it  came,  as  sudden  went ; 

Ere  half  the  night  was  sped, 
The  winds  were  hushed,  the  waves  were  spent. 

And  the  stars  shone  overhead. 

Now,  as  the  morning  mist  grew  thin, 

The  folk  on  Gloucester  shore 
Saw  a  little  figure  floating-  in, 

Secure,  on  a  broken  oar  ! 

Up  rose  the  cry,  "A  wreck  !   a  wreck! 

Pull,  mates,  and  waste  no  breath  !  ' 
They  knew  it,  though  'twas  but  a  speck 

Upon  the  edge  of  death  ! 

Long  did  they  marvel  in  the  town 

At  God,  His  strange  decree, 
That  let  the  stalwart  skipper  drown 

And  the  little  child  go  free ! 

Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich. 


152  THE    LAND    OE  SONG:    BOOK  I. 


THE   SANDPIPER. 

ACROSS  the  narrow  beach  we  flit, 
*-*■     One  little  sandpiper  and  I  ; 
And  fast  I  gather,  bit  by  bit, 

The  scattered  driftwood,  bleached  and  dry. 
The  wild  waves  reach  their  hands  for  it, 

The  wild  wind  raves,  the  tide  runs  high, 
As  up  and  down  the  beach  we  flit, 

One  little  sandpiper  and  I. 

Above  our  heads  the  sullen  clouds 

Scud,  black  and  swift,  across  the  sky  ; 
Like  silent  ghosts  in  mist)-  shrouds 

Stand  out  the  white,  lighthouses  high. 
Almost  as  far  as  eye  can  reach 

I  see  the  close-reefed  vessels  fly, 
As  fast  we  flit  along  the  beach, 

One  little  sandpiper  and  I. 

I  watch  him  as  he  skims  along, 

Uttering  his  sweet  and  mournful  cry: 
He  starts  not  at  my  fitful  song, 

Nor  flash  of  fluttering  drapery. 
He  has  no  thought  of  any  wrong, 

He  scans  me  with  a  fearless  eye  ; 
Staunch  friends  are  we,  well  tried  and  strong, 

The  little  sandpiper  and  I. 


A    CHILD'S    THOUGHT  OF  GOD.  153 

Comrade,  where  wilt  thou  be  to-night, 

When  the  loosed  storm  breaks  furiously  ? 
My  driftwood  fire  will  burn  so  bright! 

To  what  warm  shelter  canst  thou  fly  ? 
I  do  not  fear  for  thee,  though  wroth 

The  tempest  rushes  through  the  sky  ; 
For  are  we  not  God's  children  both, 

Thou,  little  sandpiper,  and  I  ? 

Celia  Thaxter. 


A   CHILD'S   THOUGHT   OF   GOD. 

PHFY  say  that  God  lives  very  high  ! 
-1      But  if  you  look  above  the  pines 
You  cannot  see  our  God.     And  why? 

And  if  you  dig  down  in  the  mines, 
You  never  see  Him  in  the  gold, 
Though  from  Him  all  that's  glory  shines. 

God  is  so  crood,  He  wears  a  fold 

Of  heaven  and  earth  across  His  face  — 

Like  secrets  kept  for  love  untold. 

But  still  I  feel  that  His  embrace 

Slides  down  by  thrills,  through  all  things  made: 

Through  sight  and  sound  of  every  place  : 

As  if  my  tender  mother  laid 

On  my  shut  lids  her  kisses'  pressure, 


154  THE   J. AND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

Half  waking  me  at  night  ;   and  said, 
"  Who  kissed  you  through  the  dark,  dear 
guesser  ?  " 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 


CANADIAN    BOAT-SONG. 

FAINTLY  as  tolls  the  evening  chime, 
A      Our  voices  keep  tune,  and  our  oars  keep 

time. 
Soon  as  the  woods  on  shore  look  dim, 
We'll  sing  at  St.  Ann's  our  parting  hymn. 
Row,  brothers,  row  !   the  stream  runs  fast, 
The  rapids  are  near,  and  the  daylight's  past. 

Why  should  we  yet  our  sails  unfurl  ?  — 
There  is  not  a  breath  the  blue  wave  to  curl. 
But  when  the  wind  blows  off  the  shore 
Oh,  sweetly  we'll  rest  our  weary  oar ! 
Blow,  breezes,  blow  !   the  stream  runs  fast, 
The  rapids  are  near,  and  the  daylight's  past. 

Utawa's  tide  !   this  trembline  moon 
Shall  see  us  float  over  thy  surges  soon. 
Saint  of  this  green  isle,  hear  our  prayers, — 
Oh,  grant  us  cool  heavens  and  favoring  airs ! 
Blow,  breezes,  blow!   the  stream  runs  fast, 
The  rapids  are  near,  and  the  daylight's  past. 

Thomas  Moore. 


THE   ROSE    UPON  MY  BALCONY.  155 

MY    HEART'S    IN    THE    HIGHLANDS. 

IV /TV  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  my  heart  is  not  here; 
IV  J.   ]yjy  heart's   in    the    Highlands  a   chasing   the 

deer  ; 
Chasing-  the  wild  deer,  and  following  the  roe, 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  wherever  I  go. 
Farewell  to  the  Highlands,  farewell  to  the  North, 
The  birthplace  of  valor,  the  country  of  worth  ; 
Wherever  I  wander,  wherever  I  rove, 
The  hills  of  the  Highlands  forever  I  love. 

Farewell  to  the  mountains  high  covered  with  snow  ; 
Farewell  to  the  straths  and  green  valleys  below  ; 
Farewell  to  the  forests  and  wild-hanging  woods  ; 
Farewell  to  the  torrents  and  loud-pouring  floods. 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands,  my  heart  is  not  here, 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  a  chasing  the  deer; 
Chasing  the  wild  deer  and  followino-  the  roe, 
My  heart's  in  the  Highlands  wherever  I  go. 

Robert  Burns. 


THE   ROSE   UPON   MY  BALCONY. 

% 

HHE     rose     upon     my    balcony,    the 

-*-       morning   air   perfuming, 

PdiSr        Was    leafless   all    the   winter   time    and 

*  ¥  pining  for  the   spring. 


lf.i;  THE    LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  1. 

You  ask  me  why  her  breath  is  sweet  and  why  her 
cheek  is  blooming-, 
It  is  because  the  sun  is  out,  and  birds  began  to  sine. 

The  nightingale,  whose  melody  is  through  the  green- 
wood ringing", 
Was  silent  when  the  boughs  were  ban?  and  winds 
were  blowing-  keen. 
And   if,  Mamma,   you   ask  of  me  the   reason   of  his 
singing", 
It  is  because  the  sun  is  out  and  all  the  leaves  are 
green. 

Then    each    performs    his    part,    .Mamma  ;    the    birds 
have   found   their  voices, 
The   blowing   rose   a    flush,    Mamma,    her   bonny 
cheek  to  dye  ; 
And  there's  sunshine   in   my  heart,   Mamma,  which 
wakens  and  rejoices, 
And  so  I  sing;  and  blush.  Mamma,  and  that's  the 


reason  why 


William  Makepeace  Thackeray.    • 


HARK,   HARK!    THE    LARK  AT   HEAVEN'S 

GATE   SINGS. 

T  ARK,  Hark  !    the  lark  at  heaven's  gate  sings, 
*    And  Phoebus  'gins  arise, 
His  steeds  to  water  at  those  springs 
(  hi  chaliced  flowers  that  lies; 


THE   EAGLE. 

And  winking-  Mary-buds  begin 
To  ope  their  golden  eyes  ; 

With  everything  that  pretty  bin, 
My  lady  sweet,  arise  : 
Arise,  arise  ! 

From   ' '  ( 'ymbelinc. 


157 


William  Shakespeare 


THE    EAGLE. 

TTE  clasps  the  crag  with  hooked  hands  ; 
A  *    Close  to  the  sun  in  lonely  lands, 
Ring'd  with  the  azure  world,  he  stands. 

The  wrinkled  sea  beneath  him  crawls; 
He  watches  from  his  mountain  walls  ; 
And  like  a  thunderbolt  he  falls, 

Alfred  Tennyson. 


A   CHILD'S   MORNING   HYMN. 

f^\  FATHER  !   whom  my  father  loves  ! 

Thou  who  art  named  on  bended  knee  ! 
Thou,  at  whose  sweet  and  awful  name 
My  mother's  head  bows  reverently  ! 


158  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

They  tell  me  that  the  brilliant  sun 
Is  but  a  plaything"  of  Thy  might, 

And  hangs  in  balance  'neath  Thy  feet, 
Like  a  great  lamp  of  golden  light. 

They  tell  me  that  the  little  birds 
In  all  the  fields  are  made  by  Thee  ; 

And  that  Thou  givest  every  child 
A  soul  to  know  and  worship  Thee. 

They  tell  me  Thou  dost  make  the  flowers 
That  dress  the  gardens  gay  and  fair  ; 

And  that  the  trees  no  fruits  could  yield 
Without  Thy  love  and  fostering  care. 

In  all  the  gifts  thy  bounty  sends 

The  world  at  large  is  made  to  share  ; 

The  smallest  insect  may  partake 

Of  Nature's  feast,  spread  everywhere. 

The  lark  secures  the  little  grain 

The  gleaner  drops  from  all  the  rest ; 

Sparrows  attend  the  winnowers, 

And  baby  clings  to  mother's  breast. 

And  then  to  gain  these  precious  gifts 
Thou  furnishest  each  day  the  same, 

At  noon,  at  niodit,  at  morning's  light, 

What  must  be  done  ?     Pronounce  Thy  name! 

O  God  !   this  name  by  angels  feared 

Is  lisped  with  stammering  tongue  by  me, 


A    CHILD'S  MORNING   HYMN.  159 

And  yet  Thou  nearest  every  child 
In  the  great  choir  that  praises  Thee. 

Ah  !   since  He  understands  from  far 
The  wishes  that  our  lips  shall  say  ; 

For  things  that  others  need  the  most 
I  want  to  ask  Him  day  by  day. 

My  God  !  give  water  to  the  streams  ; 

Give  feathers  to  the  birds  Thou'st  made  ; 
Give  wool  to  all  the  little  lambs  ; 

And  to  the  plains  give  dew  and  shade. 

Give  health  to  all  the  sick,  O  God  ! 

Give  bread  to  those  who  cry  to  Thee  ; 
Give  to  the  orphans  friends  and  home  ; 

And  give  the  prisoner  liberty  ! 

Give  to  the  man  who  lears  the  Lord 
Numberless  children,  good  and  dear; 

Give  to  me  wisdom,  happiness, 

That  mother's  heart  be  filled  with  cheer. 

Ai.phonse  de  Lamartine  (translated  by  Camelia  M'Fadden). 


A1 


THE    REVERIE    OF   POOR   SUSAN. 

r    the    corner    of  Wood    Street,   when   daylight 


appears, 

Hanors  a  thrush  that  sines  loud  ;  it  has  sungf  for  three 
years  : 


160  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  J. 

Poor  Susan  has  passed  by  the  spot,  and  has  heard 
In  the  silence  oi  morning1  the  sono-  of  the  bird. 

'Tis  a  note  of  enchantment ;  what  ails  her  ?     She  sees 
A  mountain  ascending-,  a  vision  of  trees  ; 
Bright  volumes  of  vapor  through  Lothbury  glide, 
And  a  river  flows  on  through  the  vale  of  Cheapside. 

Green  pastures  she  views  in  the  midst  of  the  dale, 
Down  which  she  so  often  has  tripped  with  her  pail  ; 
And  a  single  small  cottage,  a  nest  like  a  dove's, 
The  one  only  dwelling  on  earth  that  she  loves. 

She  looks,  and  her  heart  is  in  heaven  :  but  the)-  fade 
The  mist  and  the  river,  the  hill  and  the  shade  : 
The  stream  will  not  flow,  and  the  hill  will  not  rise, 
And  the  colors  have  all  passed  away  from  her  eyes. 

William   Wordsworth. 


ON   ANOTHER'S   SORROW. 

/^~^AN  I  see  another's  woe, 
^-^     And  not  be  in  sorrow  too  ? 
Can  I  see  another's  grief, 
And  not  seek  for  kind  relief? 

Can  I  see  a  falling  tear, 
And  not  feel  my  sorrow's  share  ? 
Can  a  father  see  his  child 
Weep,  nor  be  with  sorrow  filled? 


ON  ANOTHER'S   SORROW.  10  i 

Can  a  mother  sit  and  hear 
An  infant  groan,  an  infant  fear? 
No  !   no  !   never  can  it  be  ! 
Never,  never  can  it  be  ! 

And  can  He  who  smiles  on  all, 
Hear  the  wren  with  sorrows  small, 
Hear  the  small  bird's  grief  and  care, 
Hear  the  woes  that  infants  bear,  — 

And  not  sit  beside  the  nest, 
Pouring-  pity  in  their  breast  ? 
And  not  sit  the  cradle  near, 
Weeping  tear  on  infant's  tear  ? 

And  not  sit  both  night  and  day, 
Wiping  all  our  tears  away  ? 
Oh,  no  !   never  can  it  be  ! 
Never,  never  can  it  be  ! 

He  doth  give  His  joy  to  all; 
He  becomes  an  infant  small ; 
He  becomes  a  man  of  woe  ; 
He  doth  feel  the  sorrow  too. 

Think  not  thou  canst  sigh  a  sigh, 
And  thy  Maker  is  not  by  ; 
Think  not  thou  canst  weep  a  tear, 
And  thy  Maker  is  not  near. 


162  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

Oh  !    He  gives  to  us  His  joy, 
That  our  griefs  He  may  destroy  ; 
Till  our  orrief  is  fled  and  o-one. 
He  doth  sit  by  us  and  moan. 

William  Blake. 

HUMANITY. 

WOULD  not  enter  on  my  list  of  friends 
A     (Though  graced  with  polished  manners  and  fine 

sense, 
Vet  wanting  sensibility)  the  man 
Who  needlessly  sets  foot  upon  a  worm. 

From  "The   suit."  William  Cowper. 


DUTY. 


CO  nigh  is  grandeur  to  our  dust, 
^  So  near  is  God  to  man, 
When  Duty  whispers  low,  "Thou  must," 
The  youth  replies,  "  I  can." 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 


WE   ARE    SEVEN. 

A  SIMPLE  child, 
||\\)  That  lightly  draws  its  breath, 

And  feels  its  life  in  every  limb, 
\\  nat  should  it  know  of  death  ? 


WE   ARE    SEVEN.  163 

I  met  a  little  cottage  gfirl : 
She  was  eight  years  old,  she  said  ; 
Her  hair  was  thick  with  many  a  curl 
That  clustered  round  her  head. 

She  had  a  rustic,  woodland  air, 
And  she  was  wildly  clad  : 
Her  eyes  were  fair,  and  very  fair ; 
—  Her  beauty  made  me  glad. 

"  Sisters  and  brothers,  little  maid, 

How  many  may  you  be  ?  " 
"  How  many?     Seven  in  all,"  she  said, 

And  wondering  looked  at  me. 

"  And  where  are  they  ?     I  pray  you  tell." 
She  answered,  "  Seven  are  we  ; 
And  two  of  us  at  Conway  dwell, 
And  two  are  gone  to  sea. 

"  Two  of  us  in  the  churchyard  lie, 
My  sister  and  my  brother  ; 
And,  in  the  churchyard  cottage,  1 
Dwell  near  them  with  my  mother." 

"  You  say  that  two  at  Conway  dwell, 
And  two  are  o-one  to  sea, 
Yet  ye  are  seven  !  —  I  pray  you  tell, 
Sweet  maid,  how  this  may  be," 

Then  did  the  little  maid  reply, 

"  Seven  bpys  and  girls  are  we ; 


164  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

Two  of  us  in  the  churchyard  lie, 
Beneath  the  churchyard  tree." 

"You  run  about,  my  little  maid, 
Your  limbs  they  are  alive  ; 
If  two  are  in  the  churchyard  laid, 
Then  ye  are  only  five." 

"Their  graves  are  green,  they  may  be  seen," 

The  little  maid  replied  ; 
"  Twelve  steps  or  more  from  my  mother's  door, 

And  they  are  side  by  side. 

"  My  stockings  there  I  often  knit, 
My  kerchief  there  I  hem  ; 
And  there  upon  the  ground  I  sit  — 
I  sit  and  singf  to  them. 

"  And  often  after  sunset,  Sir, 
When  it  is  liorht  and  fair, 
I  take  my  little  porringer, 
And  eat  my  supper  there. 

"  The  first  that  died  was  little  Jane  ; 
In  bed  she  moaning  lay, 
Till  God  released  her  of  her  pain, 
And  then  she  went  away. 

"  So  in  the  churchyard  she  was  laid  ; 
And,  when  the  grass  was  dry, 
Together  round  her  grave  we  played, 
My  brother  John  and  I. 


GOOD   NAME.  165 

And  when  the  ground  was  white  with  snow, 

And  I  could  run  and  slide. 

My  brother  John  was  forced  to  go, 

And  he  lies  by  her  side." 

"  How  many  are  you,  then,"  said  I, 
"  If  they  two  are  in  heaven  ?  " 
The  little  maiden  did  reply, 
"  O  Master!   we  are  seven." 

"  But  they  are  dead  ;   those  two  are  dead  ! 
Their  spirits  are  in  heaven  !  " 
'Twas  throwing  words  away  ;   for  still 
The  little  maid  would  have  her  will, 
And  said,  "  Nay,  we  are  seven  !  " 

William  Wordsworth. 


GOOD   NAME. 

/^OOD  name  in  man  and  woman,  dear  my  lord, 

^-^   Is  the  immediate  jewel  of  their  souls  : 

Who  steals  my  purse,  steals  trash  ;   'tis  something, 

nothing ; 
'Twas  mine,  'tis  his,  and  has  been  slave  to  thousands; 
But  he  that  filches  from  me  my  good  name 
Robs  me  of  that  which  not  enriches  him, 
And  makes  me  poor  indeed. 

„         ...-,,   ,,   ,,  William  Shakespeare. 

from    "Othello. 


166 


THE   LAND    OF  SONG:   BOOK  I. 


THE    BETTER   LAND. 

'  T    HEAR    thee   speak   of 
-*-        the  better  land  ; 
Thou    call'st   its  children   a 

happy  band  ; 
Mother  !   oh,  where   is  that 

radiant  shore  ? 
Shall  we    not   seek   it,  and 

weep  no  more  ? 
Is  it  where  the  flower  of  the 
orange  blows, 
And  the  fireflies  dance  through  the  myrtle  boughs?" 
"  Not  there,  not  there,  my  child  !  " 

"  Is  it  where  the  feathery  palm  trees  rise, 
And  the  date  grows  ripe  under  sunny  skies? 
Or  midst  the  green  islands  of  olitterinor  seas, 
Where  fragrant  forests  perfume  the  breeze, 
And  strange  bright  birds  on  their  starry  wings 
Bear  the  rich  hues  of  all  glorious  things?" 
"  Not  there,  not  there,  my  child  !  " 

"Is  it  far  away  in  some  region  old, 
Where  the  rivers  wander  o'er  sands  of  gold  ? 
Where  the  burning  rays  of  the  ruby  shine, 
And  the  diamond  lights  up  the  secret  mine, 
And  the  pearl  gleams  forth  from  the  coral  strand  ? 
Is  it  there,  sweet  mother,  that  better  land  ?"  — 
"  Not  there,  not  there,  my  child  ! 


THE   FIRST  SNOW  FALL.  167 

"  Eye  hath  not  seen  it,  my  gentle  boy  ; 
Ear  hath  not  heard  its  deep  songs  of  joy  ; 
Dreams  cannot  picture  a  world  so  fair,  — 
Sorrow  and  death  may  not  enter  there  ; 
Time  doth  not  breathe  on  its  fadeless  bloom  ; 
For  beyond  the  clouds  and  beyond  the  tomb, 
It  is  there,  it  is  there,  my  child  !  ' 

Felicia  D.  Hemans. 


THE    FIRST   SNOW   FALL. 

HHE  snow  had  begun  in  the  gloaming, 
*~       And  busily  all  the  night 
Had  been  heaping  field  and  highway 
With  a  silence  deep  and  white. 

Every  pine  and  fir  and  hemlock 
Wore  ermine  too  dear  for  an  earl, 

And  the  poorest  twig  on  the  elm  tree 
Was  ridged  inch  deep  with  pearl. 

From  sheds  new-roofed  with  Carrara 
Came  Chanticleer's  muffled  crow  ; 

The  stiff  rails  were  softened  to  swan's-down, 
And  still  fluttered  down  the  snow. 

I  stood  and  watched  by  the  window 

The  noiseless  work  of  the  sky, 
And  the  sudden  flurries  of  snowbirds, 

Like  brown  leaves  whirling  by. 


1(38  THE   LAND    OE  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

I  thought  of  a  mound  in  sweet  Auburn 
Where  a  little  headstone  stood, — 

Mow  the  Makes  were  folding  it  gently, 
As  did  robins  the  babes  in  the  wood. 

Up  spoke  our  own  little  Mabel, 

Saying,  "  Father,  who  makes  it  snow?" 

And  I  told  of  the  good  All-Father 
Who  cares  for  us  here  below. 

Again  I  looked  at  the  snow-fall, 
And  thought  of  the  leaden  sky 

That  arched  o'er  our  first  oreat  sorrow, 
When  that  mound  was  heaped  so  high. 

T  remembered  the  gradual  patience 
That  fell  from  that  cloud  like  snow. 

Flake  by  flake,  healing  and  hiding 
The  scar  of  our  deep-plunged  woe. 

And  again  to  the  child  I  whispered, 

"The  snow  that  husheth  all, 
Darling,  the  merciful  Father 

Alone  can  make  it  fall !  " 

Then,  with  eyes  that  saw  not,  I  kissed  her; 

And  she,  kissing  back,  could  not  know 
That  my  kiss  was  given  to  her  sister, 

Folded  close  under  the  deepening  snow. 

I  hues  Russell  Lowell. 


WHILE    SHEPHERDS    WATCHED.  169 

WHILE    SHEPHERDS   WATCHED   THEIR 
FLOCKS    BY    NIGHT. 

A  1  7HILE  shepherds  watched  their  flocks  by  night, 
*  *  All  seated  on  the  ground, 

The  ano-el  of  the  Lord  came  down, 
And  glory  shone  around. 

"  Fear  not,"  said  he,  for  mighty  dread 
Had  seized  their  troubled  mind  ; 

"  Glad  tidings  of  great  joy  I  bring 
To  you  and  all  mankind. 

"  To  you,  in  David's  town,  this  day 
Is  born,  of  David's  line, 
The  Savior,  who  is  Christ  the  Lord, 
And  this  shall  be  the  sign  : 

"  The  heavenly  babe  you  there  shall  find 
To  human  view  displayed, 
All  meanly  wrapped  in  swaddling  bands, 
And  in  a  manner  laid." 

Thus  spake  the  seraph  ;   and  forthwith 

Appeared  a  shining  throng 
Of  angels,  praising  God,  who  thus 

Addressed  their  joyful  song: 

"  All  glory  be  to  God  on  high, 
And  to  the  earth  be  peace  ; 
Good  will  henceforth  from  Heaven  to  men 
Begin  and  never  cease."  nahum  Tate. 


170 


THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK   L 


THE    ECHOING   GREEN. 

^HE  sun  does  arise, 
A     And  make  happy  the  skies  ; 
The  merry  bells  ring, 
To  welcome  the  spring ; 
The  skylark  and  thrush, 
The  birds  of  the  bush, 
Sing  louder  around 
To  the  bell's  cheerful  sound; 
While  our  sports  shall  be  seen 
On  the  echoing  green. 


Old  John,  with  white  hair, 
Does  laugh  away  care, 
Sitting  under  the  oak, 
Among  the  old  folk. 
They  laugh  at  our  play, 
And  soon  they  all  say, 


EVENING    HYMN  171 


Such,  such  were  the  joys 
When  we  all  —  girls  and  boys 
In  our  youth  time  were  seen 
On  the  echoing  green." 


Till  the  little  ones,  weary, 
No  more  can  be  merry ; 
The  sun  does  descend, 
And  our  sports  have  an  end. 
Round  the  laps  of  their  mothers 
Many  sisters  and  brothers, 
Like  birds  in  their  nest, 
Are  ready  for  rest, 
And  sport  no  more  seen 


On  the  darkening  oreen. 


William  Blake. 


EVENING   HYMN. 

f~^  OD  that  madest  Earth  and  Heaven, 

^-^   Darkness  and  light ! 

Who  the  day  for  toil  hast  given, 

For  rest  the  night! 
May  Thine  Angel  guards  defend  us, 

Slumber  sweet  Thy  mercy  send  us, 
Holy  dreams  and  hopes  attend  us, 

This  livelong  night ! 

Reginald  Hebek. 


171'  THE    LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK   /. 

HOME,   SWEET   HOME. 

'  A  /TID  pleasures  and  palaces  though  we  may  roam, 
-L*A   Be   it  ever  so  humble,   there's  no  place  like 

home  ! 
A  charm  from  the  skies  seems  to  hallow  us  there, 
Which,   seek  through  the  world,  is   ne'er  met  with, 
elsewhere. 
Home,  home,  sweet  home  ! 
There's  no  place  like  home! 

An  exile  from  home,  splendor  dazzles  in  vain  : 
Ah,  give  me  my  lowly  thatched  cottage  again  ! 
The  birds  sinking-  sweetlv  that  come  at  my  call  — 
( rive  me  them,  and  that  peace  of  mind,  dearer  than  all 

Home,  home,  sweet  home  ! 

There's  no  place  like  home  ! 

John  Howard  Payne. 


A    VISIT  FROM  THE   SEA,  173 

A  VISIT   FROM   THE   SEA. 

"C\AR  from  the  loud  sea  beaches, 
^      Where  he  goes  fishing  and  crying. 
Here  in  the  inland  garden, 
Why  is  the  sea  gull  flying  ? 

Here  are  no  fish  to  dive  for  : 

Here  is  the  corn  and  lea ; 
Here  are  the  green  trees  rustling. 

Hie  away  home  to  sea ! 

Fresh  is  the  river  water, 

And  quiet  among  the  rushes  ; 

This  is  no  home  for  the  sea  gull, 
But  for  the  rooks  and  thrushes. 

Pity  the  bird  that  has  wandered ! 

Pity  the  sailor  ashore  ! 
Hurry  him  home  to  the  ocean, 

Let  him  come  here  no  more ! 


High  on  the  sea  cliff  ledges 

The  white  gulls  are  trooping  and  cryin 
Here  among-  rooks  and  roses, 

Why  is  the  sea  gull  flying  ? 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 


174  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 


M 


GEORGE   NIDIVER. 

EN  have  done  brave  deeds, 
And  bards  have  sune  them  well 


& 


I  of  good  George  Nidiver 
Now  the  tale  will  tell. 


In  Californian  mountains 
A  hunter  bold  was  he  : 

Keen  his  eye  and  sure  his  aim 
As  any  you  should  see. 

A  little  Indian  boy 

Followed  him  everywhere, 
Eager  to  share  the  hunter's  joy, 

The  hunter's  meal  to  share. 

And  when  the  bird  or  deer 
Fell  by  the  hunter's  skill, 

The  boy  was  always  near 

To  help  with  right  good  will. 

One  day  as  through  the  cleft 
Between  two  mountains  steep, 

Shut  in  both  right  and  left, 
Their  weary  way  they  keep, 

They  see  two  grizzly  bears, 
With  hunger  fierce  and  fell, 

Rush  at  them  unawares 

Right  down  the  narrow  dell, 


GEORGE   NIDIVER.  \1\ 

The  boy  turned  round  with  screams, 

And  ran  with  terror  wild  ; 
One  of  the  pair  of  savage  beasts 

Pursued  the  shrieking-  child. 

The  hunter  raised  his  gun, — 
He  knew  one  charge  was  all,  — 

And  through  the  boy's  pursuing  foe 
He  sent  his  only  ball. 

The  other  on  George  Nidiver 

Came  on  with  dreadful  pace  ; 
The  hunter  stood  unarmed, 

And  met  him  face  to  face. 

I  say  unarmed  he  stood  : 

Against  those  frightful  paws 
The  rifle  butt,  or  club  of  wood, 

Could  stand  no  more  than  straws. 

George  Nidiver  stood  still, 

And  looked  him  in  the  face  ; 
The  wild  beast  stopped  amazed, 

Then  came  with  slack'ning  pace. 

Still  firm  the  hunter  stood, 
Although  his  heart  beat  high  ; 

Again  the  creature  stopped, 

And  gazed  with  wond'ring  eye. 


176  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

The  hunter  met  his  gaze, 
Mor  yet  an  inch  orave  way  ; 

The  bear  turned  slowly  round, 
And  slowly  moved  away. 

What  thoughts  were  in  his  mind 
It  would  be  hard  to  spell ; 

What  thoughts  were  in  George  Nidiver 
I  rather  guess  than  tell. 

But  sure  that  rifle's  aim, 

Swift  choice  of  gen'rous  part, 

Showed  in  its  passing  gleam 
The  depths  of  a  brave  heart. 

Anonymous. 


THE    MINSTREL  BOY. 

"  I  "HE  Minstrel  boy  to  the  war  is  gone, 
■*-       In  the  ranks  of  death  vou'll  find  him 

J 

His  father's  sword  he  has  girded  on, 

And  his  wild  harp  slung  behind  him.  — 


THE    TIGER. 


i  t 


'  Land  of  song  ! "  said  the  warrior  bard, 
"Though  all  the  world  betrays  thee, 
One  sword,  at  least,  thy  rights  shall  guard, 
One  faithful  harp  shall  praise  thee  !  " 

The  Minstrel  fell  !  —  but  the  foeman's  chain 

Could  not  bring  his  proud  soul  under ; 
The  harp  he  loved  ne'er  spoke  again, 

For  he  tore  its  chords  asunder  ; 
And  said,  "  No  chain  shall  sully  thee, 

Thou  soul  of  love  and  bravery  ! 
Thy  songs  were  made  for  the  brave  and  free,  — - 

They  shall  never  sound  in  slavery  !  ' 

Thomas  Moore. 


THE   TIGER. 

TIGER,  tiger,  burning  bright 
In  the  forests  of  the  night, 
What  immortal  hand  or  eye 
Could  frame  thy  fearful  symmetry  ? 

In  what  distant  deeps  or  skies 
Burnt  the  fire  of  thine  eyes  ? 
On  what  wings  dare  he  aspire  ? 
What  the  hand  dare  seize  the  fire  ? 

And  what  shoulder  and  what  art 
Could  twist  the  sinews  of  thy  heart? 
And,  when  thy  heart  began  to  beat, 
What  dread  hand  and  what  dread  feet  ? 


178  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

What  the  hammer  ?  what  the  chain  ? 
In  what  furnace  was  thy  brain  ? 
What  the  anvil  ?  what  dread  grasp 
Dare  its  deadly  terrors  clasp  ? 

When  the  stars  threw  down  their  spears, 
And  watered  heaven  with  their  tears, 
Did  He  smile  His  work  to  see  ? 
Did  He  who  made  the  lamb  make  thee  ? 

Tio-er,  tieer,  burn  in  of  bright 
In  the  forests  of  the  night, 
What  immortal  hand  or  eye 
Dare  frame  thy  fearful  symmetry  ? 

\\  iixiam  Blake. 


B 


A    LULLABY. 

ALOO,  loo,  lammy,  now  baloo,  my  dear. 
Does  wee  lammy  ken  that  its  daddy's  no  here? 
Ye're  rocking  full  sweetly  on  mammy's  warm  knee, 
But  daddy's  a  rocking  upon  the  salt  sea. 

Now  hush-a-by,  lammy,  now  hush-a-by  dear; 
Now  hush-a-by,  lammy,  for  mother  is  near. 
The  wild  wind  is  raving,  and  mammy's  heart's  sair  ; 
The  wild  wind  is  raving,  and  ye  dinna  care. 

Sing  baloo,  loo,  lammy,  sing  baloo,  my  dear  ; 
Sing  baloo,  loo,  lammy,  for  mother  is  here 
My  wee  bairnie's  dozing,  it's  dozing  now  fine, 
And  oh,  may  its  wakeningf  be  blither  than  mine! 

Lady  Nairne. 


THE    WRECK   OF  THE   HESPERUS. 


179 


\ 


THE   WRECK   OF  THE   HESPERUS. 

TT  was  the  schooner  Hesperus, 
-*-     That  sailed  the  wintry  sea  ; 
And  the  skipper  had  taken  his  little  daughter, 
To  bear  him  company. 

Blue  were  her  eyes  as  the  fairy  flax, 
Her  cheeks  like  the  dawn  of  day, 

And  her  bosom  white  as  the  hawthorn  buds, 
That  ope  in  the  month  of  May. 

The  skipper  he  stood  beside  the  helm, 

His  pipe  was  in  his  mouth, 
And  watched  how  the  veerinor  flaw  clid  blow 

The  smoke  now  west,  now  south. 

Then  up  and  spake  an  old  sailor, 
Had  sailed  the  Spanish  Main, 
"  I  pray  thee  put  into  yonder  port, 
For  I  fear  a  hurricane. 


L80  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

"  Last  night  the  moon  had  a  golden  ring, 
And  to-night  no  moon  we  see!  ' 
The  skipper  he  blew  a  whiff  from  his  pipe, 
And  a  scornful  laugh  laughed  he. 

Colder  and  louder  blew  the  wind, 

A  gale  from  the  northeast ; 
The  snow  fell  hissing  in  the  brine, 

And  the  billows  frothed  like  yeast. 

Down  came  the  storm,  and  smote  amain 

The  vessel  in  its  strength  ; 
She  shuddered  and  paused,  like  a  frighted  steed, 

Then  leaped  her  cable's  length. 

"  Come  hither!   come  hither!    my  little  daughter, 
\nd  do  not  tremble  so! 
For  I  can  weather  the  roughest  gale 
That  ever  wind  did  blow." 

lie  wrapped  her  warm  in  his  seaman's  coat 

Against  the  stinging  blast ; 
He  cut  a  rope  from  a  broken  spar, 

And  bound  her  to  the  mast. 

"O  Father!    1  hear  the  church  bells  ring, 

O  say,  what  may  it  be  ? " 
"  Tis  a  fog  bell,  on  a  rock-bound  coast !  ' 

And  he  steered  for  the  open  sea. 


THE    WRECK   OF  THE   HESPERUS.  181 

"  O  father  !   I  hear  the  sound  of  euns, 

O  say,  what  may  it  be  ?  " 
"  Some  ship  in  distress,  that  cannot  live 

In  such  an  angry  sea !  " 

"  O  father  ?  I  see  a  gleaming  lisfht, 
O  say,  what  may  it  be  ?" 
But  the  father  answered  never  a  word, 
A  frozen  corpse  was  he. 

Lashed  to  the  helm,  all  stiff  and  stark, 
With  his  face  turned  to  the  skies, 

The  lantern  gleamed  through  the  gleaming  snow 
On  his  fixed  and  glassy  eyes. 

Then  the  maiden  clasped  her  hands  and  prayed 

That  saved  she  might  be  ; 
And  she  thought  of  Christ,  who  stilled  the  waves 

On  the  Lake  of  Galilee. 

And  fast  through  the  midnight  dark  and  drear 
Through  the  whistling  sleet  and  snow, 

Like  a  sheeted  ghost,  the  vessel  swept 
Towards  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe. 

And  ever  the  fitful  gusts  between 

A  sound  came  from  the  land  ; 
It  was  the  sound  of  the  trampling  surf 

On  the  rocks  and  the  hard  sea  sand. 


182  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:   BOOK  I. 

The  breakers  were  right  beneath  her  bows, 

She  drifted,  a  dreary  wreck, 
And  a  whooping-  billow  swept  the  crew 

Like  icicles  from  her  deck. 

She  struck  where  the  white  and  fleecy  waves 

J 

Looked  soft  as  carded  wool  ; 
But  the  cruel  rocks,  they  gored  her  sides 
Like  the  horns  of  an  angry  bull. 

Her  rattling  shrouds,  all  sheathed  in  ice, 
With  the  masts  went  by  the  board  ; 

Like  a  vessel  of  glass,  she  stove  and  sank, 
Ho  !   ho  !   the  breakers  roared  ! 

At  daybreak,  on  the  bleak  seabeach 

A  fisherman  stood  aghast, 
To  see  the  form  of  a  maiden  fair 

Lashed  close  to  a  drifting  mast. 

The  salt  sea  was  frozen  on  her  breast, 

The  salt  tears  in  her  eyes  ; 
And  he  saw  her  hair,  like  the  brown  seaweed, 

On  the  billows  fall  and  rise. 

Such  was  the  wreck  of  the  Hesperus, 

In  the  midniofht  and  the  snow  ! 
Christ  save  us  all  from  a  death  like  this, 

On  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe  ! 

Henky  Wadsworth  Longfellow, 


THE    YELLOW    VLOLET.  18.' 


THE   YELLOW   VIOLET. 

\  \  7HEN  beechen  buds  begin  to  swell, 
*  *     And  woods  the  bluebird's  warble  know, 
The  yellow  violet's  modest  bell 

Peeps  from  the  last  year's  leaves  below. 

Ere  russet  fields  their  green  resume, 
Sweet  flower,  I  love,  in  forest  bare, 

To  meet  thee,  when  thy  faint  perfume 
Alone  is  in  the  virgin  air. 


& 


Of  all  her  train,  the  hands  of  spring 
First  plant  thee  in  the  watery  mold, 

And  I  have  seen  thee  blossoming 
Beside  the  snowbank's  edees  cold. 


*fc> 


Thy  parent  sun,  who  bade  thee  view 
Pale  skies,  and  chilling  moisture  sip, 

Has  bathed  thee  in  his  own  bright  hue, 
And  streaked  with  jet  thy  glowing  lip. 

Yet  slight  thy  form,  and  low  thy  seat, 
And  earthward  bent  thy  gentle  eye, 


184  THE   LAND    GF  SONG:    BOOK  L 

Unapt  the  passing-  view  to  meet, 

When  loftier  flowers  are  flaunting  nigh. 

Oft,  in  the  sunless  April  day, 

Thy  early  smile  has  stayed  my  walk ; 

But  midst  the  gorgeous  blooms  of  May, 
I  passed  thee  on  thy  humble  stalk. 

So  they  who  climb  to  wealth  forget 
The  friends  in  darker  fortunes  tried. 

I  copied  them  —  but  I  regret 

That  I  should  ape  the  ways  of  pride. 

And  when  again  the  genial  hour 
Awakes  the  painted  tribes  of  light, 

I'll  not  o'erlook  the  modest  flower 
That  made  the  woods  of  April  bright. 

William  Cullen  Bryant. 


FAIRY   SONG. 

CHED  no  tear!     O  shed  no  tear! 

^     The  flower  will  bloom  another  year. 

Weep  no  more  !     O  weep  no  more  ! 

Young  buds  sleep  in  the  roots'  white  core. 

Dry  your  eyes  !      O  dry  your  eyes  ! 

For  I  was  taught  in  Paradise 

To  ease  my  breast  of  melodies  — 

Shed  no  tear ! 


OLD    CHRISTMAS.  185 

Overhead !   look  overhead  ! 

'Mongf  the  blossoms  white  and  red  — 

Look  up,  look  up  !  I  flutter  now 

On  this  fresh  pomegranate  bough. 

See  me  !   'tis  this  silvery  bill 

Ever  cures  the  good  man's  ill. 

Shed  no  tear  !     O  shed  no  tear ! 
The  flower  will  bloom  another  year. 
Adieu,  adieu  —  I  fly  —  adieu  ! 
I  vanish  in  the  heaven's  blue  — 

Adieu,  adieu  ! 

John  Keats. 

OLD    CHRISTMAS. 

IV TOW  he  who  knows  old  Christmas, 
^  ^    He  knows  a  carle  of  worth  ; 
For  he  is  as  g-ood  a  fellow 
As  any  upon  earth. 

He  comes  warm  cloaked  and  coated, 
And  buttoned  up  to  the  chin, 

And  soon  as  he  comes  anigh  the  door 
We  open  and  let  him  in. 

We  know  that  he  will  not  fail  us, 
So  we  sweep  the  hearth  up  clean  ; 

We  set  him  in  the  old  armchair, 
And  a  cushion  whereon  to  lean. 


18G  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

And  with  sprigs  of  holly  and  ivy 
We  make  the  house  look  gay, 

Just  out  of  an  old  regard  to  him, 
For  it  was  his  ancient  way. 

He  must  be  a  rich  old  fellow  : 
What  money  he  gives  away ! 

There  is  not  a  lord  in  England 
Could  equal  him  any  day. 

Good  luck  unto  old  Christmas, 

And  long  life,  let  us  sing, 
For  he  doth  more  good  unto  the  poor 

Than  many  a  crowned  king  ! 

Mary  Howitt. 


OLD    IRONSIDES. 

AY,  tear  her  tattered  ensign  down  ! 
^  ^   Loncj  has  it  waved  on  hio-h, 
And  many  an  eye  has  danced  to  see 

That  banner  in  the  sky  ; 
Beneath  it  rung  the  battle  shout, 

And  burst  the  cannon's  roar  ;  — 
The  meteor  of  the  ocean  air 

Shall  sweep  the  clouds  no  more. 

Her  deck,  once  red  with  heroes'  blood, 
Where  knelt  the  vanquished  foe, 


OLD    lRO.\  SIDES. 


is; 


THE    FAMOUS    U.  S.  VESSEL,    CONSTITUTION    ("  OED    IRONSIDES  "). 

From  photogravure  of  painting  by  Marshall  Johnson, published  by  A.  W.  Elson  &  Co.,  Boston. 


188  THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 

When  winds  were  hurrying-  o'er  the  flood, 
And  waves  were  white  below, 

No  more  shall  feel  the  victor's  tread, 
Or  know  the  conquered  knee  ; 

The  harpies  of  the  shore  shall  pluck 
The  eagle  of  the  sea  ! 

Oh,  better  that  her  shattered  hulk 

Should  sink  beneath  the  wave  ; 
Her  thunders  shook  the  mighty  deep, 

And  there  should  be  her  grave  : 
Nail  to  the  mast  her  holy  flag, 

Set  every  threadbare  sail, 
And  give  her  to  the  god  of  storms, 

The  lightning  and  the  gale  ! 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


SEE   WHAT   A    LOVELY    SHELL. 

CEE  what  a  lovely  shell, 
^   Small  and  pure  as  a  pearl, 
Lying  close  to  my  foot, 
Frail,  but  a  work  divine, 
Made  so  fairily  well 
With  delicate  spire  and  whorl, 
How  exquisitely  minute, 
A  miracle  of  design  ! 

•     What  is  it  ?  a  learned  man 
Could  give  it  a  clumsy  name. 


THE   HOUSEKEEPER.  189 

Let  him  name  it  who  can, 
The  beauty  would  be  the  same. 

The  tiny  cell  is  forlorn, 
Void  of  the  little  living  will 
That  made  it  stir  on  the  shore. 
Did  he  stand  at  the  diamond  door 
Of  his  house  in  a  rainbow  frill  ? 
Did  he  push,  when  he  was  uncurl'd, 
A  golden  fQOt  or  a  fairv  horn 
Thro'  his  dim  water  world  ? 

Slight,  to  be  crush'd  with  a  tap 
Of  my  finger  nail  on  the  sand, 
Small,  but  a  work  divine, 
Frail,  but  of  force  to  withstand, 
Year  upon  year,  the  shock 
Of  cataract  seas  that  snap 
The  three  decker's  oaken  spine 
Athwart  the  ledges  of  rock, 
Here  on  the  Breton  strand  ! 

Alfred  Tennyson. 


THE    HOUSEKEEPER. 

^HE  frugal  snail,  with  forecast  of  repose, 
-*■      Carries  his  house  with  him  where'er  he  goes ; 
Peeps  out,  — and  if  there  comes  a  shower  of  rain, 
Retreats  to  his  small  domicile  again. 
Touch  but  a  tip  of  him,  a  horn,  —  'tis  well, — 


190 


THE   LAND    OF  SONG:    BOOK  I. 


He  curls  up  in  his  sanctuary  shell. 

He's  his  own  landlord,  his  own  tenant;   stay 

Long  as  he  will,  he  dreads  no  Quarter  Day. 

Himself  he  boards  and  lodges  ■  both  invites 

And  feasts  himself;   sleeps  with  himself  o'er  nights. 

He  spares  the  upholsterer  trouble  to  procure 

Chattels  ;   himself  is  his  own  furniture, 

And  his  sole  riches.     Whereso'er  he  roam,  — 

Knock  when  you  will,  —  he's  sure  to  be  at  home. 

Charles  Lamp. 


A   FAREWELL. 

A  /TY  fairest  child,  I  have  no  song-  to  give  you  ; 
^'^   No  lark  could  pipe  to  skies  so  dull  and  gray; 
Yet,  ere  we  part,  one  lesson  I  can  leave  you 
For  every  daw 

Be  good,  sweet  maid,  and  let  who  will  be  clever; 
I  )o  noble  things,  not  dream  them,  all  day  long: 
And  so  make  life,  death,  and  that  vast  lorever 
One  grand,  sweet  song. 

Charles  Kjngsley. 


Recommended  Poems. 


The  following  additional  poems  are  recommended  for  use 


in  the  grades  designated : 


GRADE     1. 


Field,  Eugene. 

The  Dutch  Lullaby. 
The  Rockaby  Lady, 

Howitt,  Mary. 

father  is  Coming. 

The  Spider  and  the  Fly. 
Kipling,   Rudyard. 

Shiv  and  the  Grasshopper. 

Seal  Lullaby. 
Lamb,  Mary. 

Choosing  a  Name. 


Longfellow  Henry  Wadsworth. 

(Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  publishers.) 
Hiawatha's  Childhood. 
The  Children's  Hour. 

Stevenson,  Robert  Louis  (Charles  Scrib- 

ner's  Suns,  publishers). 
The  Dumb  Soldier. 
The  Land  of  Counterpane. 
Where  go  the  Boats  ? 
And  many  others  from  A  Child's  Garden 

of  Ver:es. 


GRADE    2. 


Cary,  Alice  (Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  pub- 
lishers). 
A  Lesson  of  Mercy. 
Barbara  Blue. 
Nobility. 
November. 
Peter  Grey. 
The  Grateful  Swan. 
The  Spider  and  Fly. 
The  Wise  Fairy. 
To  Mother  Fairy. 

Gary,   Phcebe   (Houghton,  Mifflin  &   Co., 
publishers). 

A  Legend  of  the  Northland. 
Cooke,  Rose  Terry. 

A  Wish. 

Cowper,   William. 
A  Law  Case. 

The  Faithful  Bird. 


Field,  Eugene. 

Good  Children  Street. 

The  Duel. 

The  Norse  Lullaby. 

Longfellow,  Henry  Wadsworth. 

(Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  publishers.) 
Daybreak. 

The  Emperor's  Bird's  Nest. 
Thaxter,  Celia  (Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co., 
publishers). 
Piccola. 

•The  Waning  Moon. 
The  Wounded  Curlew. 
Trowbridge,  John  T. 
The  Farmyard  Song. 

Wordsworth,  William. 
Alice  Fell. 

Characteristic  of  a  Favorite  Dog. 
Lucy  Gray. 


101 


192 


RECOMMENDED    POEMS, 


GRADE    3 


Bryant,  William  Cullen  (D.  Appleton& 
Co.,  publishers*. 
November. 
The  Rivulet  (first  stanza). 

Campbell. 

The  Child  and  Hind. 

Cary,  Alice  (Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  pub- 
lishers). 
A  Sermon. 

Cary,   Phcebe  (Houghton,   Mifflin   &   Co., 
publishers). 
Nora's  Charm. 
The  Prairie  on  Fire. 

Cowper,  William. 
John  Gilpin. 
The  Solitude  of  Alexander  Selkirk. 

Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell. 
The  Dorchester  Giant. 

Howitt,  Mary. 

Mabel  on  Midsummer's  Day. 

Lamb,  Mary. 

The  Spartan  Boy. 


"  Lilliput  Levee." 
Little  Christel. 

Longfellow,  Henry  Wadsworth  (Hough 
ton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  publishers). 
The  Arrow  and  the  Song. 
The  Castle  by  the  Sea. 
The  Fiftieth  Birthday  of  Agassiz. 
The  Happiest  Land. 
The  Rain. 

The  Reaper  and  the  Flowers. 
Twilight. 
Walter  Von  der  Vogelweid. 

Swift,  Jonathan. 

Baucis  and  Philemon. 

Whittier,   John   Greenieaf  (Houghtoi 
Mifflin  &  Co.,  publishers). 
Barbara  Frietchie. 
In  School  Days. 
My  Playmate. 
The  Barefoot  Boy. 

Wordsworth.  William. 
The  Childless  Father. 
The  Kitten  and  the  Falling  Leaves. 


29 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  AT  LOS  ANGELES 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  "below 


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20m  -12,'30(3^S0) 


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UNIVERSITY  of  CALIFORNIA 
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